


Love in a Bottle

by Besin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Agoraphobia, Anxiety, Bathtub Sex, Coming Out, Growing Up, Homophobia, Hugs, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Slow Build, Witch AU, Witchcraft, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-01-27 09:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 106,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12578400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Besin/pseuds/Besin
Summary: Sometimes what you want is complicated. Sometimes it's easy. Sometimes it's a mess. But the general rule of getting what you want is that you have to do something about it.At the age of thirteen, as is tradition for a young witch, Prompto set out on his pilgrimage. There he met Noctis, Ignis, and Gladiolus, who were willing to help him navigate the ins and outs of having magic.At the age of eighteen, Prompto figured he was a pretty decent witch. But, magical or not, life goes on. Sometimes good, sometimes bad.Note: Inspired by Kiki's Delivery Service, but you don't have to watch it to know what's going on.





	1. Witch

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Arnaud and [Coffee](https://saturnvalleycoffee.tumblr.com/) for editing, [Cael](http://kingcael.tumblr.com/) for consultation, and [Way](https://littledraga.tumblr.com/) for some story advice.
> 
> Edit: Check out this AMAZING fanart by [Kiwi](http://flykiwifly.tumblr.com) \-- it's right [HERE!](https://flykiwifly.tumblr.com/post/168132052453/fanart-for-besin-is-a-moogle-love-in-a-bottle)

The grandfather clock in the hallway was ticking, loud and on the beat, when Prompto was introduced to the people who would be his new parents. They were two women. It was an oddity at the time, but while there were laws in place to prevent them from marrying, there had been none that stated they were not allowed to adopt. So they did, and Prompto would be their boy.

When he first met them, in that wide hall with many doors leading into just as many rooms, one of them asked if he liked to know how things work.

“Yes,” Prompto had answered, feeling very shy and nervous. He wrung the hem of his shirt. These ladies seemed rich, and he wondered if they really wanted him.

The taller woman had turned to the shorter woman. Her dark curly hair fascinated Prompto. He had never seen hair like that. It looked very nice, pulled into puffy little pigtails. “Do you like nature?” she asked.

Prompto shook his head. “I have… as… asthma,” he stuttered out, unsure.

The woman with bright hair - like him - snorted. “You can’t win every battle,” she had laughed. Then turning to Prompto, she asked, “My name’s Cindy, and I like fixing things. What do you like, Prompto?”

His eyes turned to the floor. “Reading.”

Cindy whistled. “Got a bookworm for you, darling.”

The other woman approached with a grin, teeth a stark white against her skin. “What do you like to read about?” she asked, extending a hand. “My name is Sania.”

Prompto hesitated before taking the hand. “Dogs,” he answered after a moment. “And birds.”

“Do you like animals?”

“Very much.” He hadn’t hesitated that time, excitement shining through.

The moment he’d smiled, the deal was done. After the meeting – after an hour of questions and a round of uno, they had him wait in the hall.

_“Wouldn’t you like to speak to him again?”_

_“No. The was enough. Do you have the paperwork?”_

Prompto shrunk at the words, _“He’s a very anxious child,”_ pierced the air. He slowly kicked his feet beneath his chair. _“I’m not quite sure-”_

_“Generalized anxiety isn’t anything to scoff at; we are aware,”_ Sania had spat.

His feet stilled.

“Ms-”

_“Dr,”_ she corrected. _“My title is Dr.”_

_“There’s no need to get confrontational.”_

_“We’re aware of the situation, and while I’m sure your intentions are aimed at his best interests there’s no need to talk us out of adopting a child with certain needs. We’re educated, prepared, and happy to have him.”_

_“...Yes. I… In that case, sign here…”_

Prompto, for all his joy, wanted to die.

…

On his first day at his new home, Prompto was so nervous he dropped everything he held. He’d look away, look back, and his grip had fled, sending the items to the floor.

“Have you taken yours meds, honey?” Sania asked, unsure.

Prompto nodded, and his voice shook as he softly admitted, “Today’s just a bad day.”

“And how often do you have ‘bad days’?” she inquired, just as quiet, as she worked through the dishes as though it were a casual conversation.

At first there was no answer. Hands twisted in a shirt that rode up a pudgy stomach. Legs in pants a touch too long shifted from side to side. “About half.”

Sania set the dish in her hands back in the sink, then bent at the knees to look at the boy - her _son_ \- in the eye. “When you say ‘half’, do you mean that it’s bothering you every other day or that you feel like this more than you can account for?”

He withdrew, then, and refused to answer any questions for the rest of the day.

Sania pet his hair occasionally, and when Cindy got home they instigated a game of charades.

Ten minutes in, Prompto started crying uncontrollably. His new moms held him until he stopped.

His medication was changed within the week.

…

Cindy got him a red canary for his sixth birthday.

“He’s never had a pet before. Didn’t you think before getting him a bird that lives ten years?” Sania had scolded.

“Oh, come on, he’s quiet and responsible. What’s the worst that could happen?” Cindy had laughed.

“They could just ask you about it,” the bird had drawled, “but big humans never want to listen to tiny humans.”

Prompto had stared. ” Moms,” he’d called, “do canaries talk?”

Their whispered argument had ceased and both women turned to their son.

“No,” Sania answered at last. “Why do you ask, honey?”

“Oh, that’s right,” the bird hummed. “Humans are so silly.”

“She’s talking right now.”

“What’s she saying, honey?”

“That humans are silly.”

Sania and Cindy froze, eyes going wide. It was a long time before either of them moved. Before Cindy stepped up to Prompto and asked, “Honey, do animals talk?”

“Parrots do,” he responded quickly. “And this bird.” He pointed to the canary with one tiny hand.

“What’s a parrot?” the bird asked.

“It’s a type of bird,” he replied without thinking

...

As the apparent schizophrenia was predominantly harmless, it was decided that Prompto would not be put on antipsychotics.

For a while there was talk about getting rid of the bird.

…

The day the canary - “Aranea!” Prompto insisted her name was - started responding to them was the day Cindy came home soaking wet, collapsed on the couch, and promptly groaned a loud, “Wish I thought to grab a towel,” only for Aranea to flit into the room with a tiny washcloth and drop it on her face. Cindy grabbed the cloth, glancing around nervously for a person, only for Aranea to chirp at her. She startled, eyes turning from the bird to the cloth, then back again. “Hey girl,” she greeted, noting the eerily attentive glint in the bird’s eye. “Did Prompto let you out of your cage again?”

Another chirp, short and firm.

Cindy stared. Then, feeling brave and a touch silly, she asked, “Wanna come sit by me?”

Aranea seemed to think at this, glancing up and down her wet clothes before giving two quick chirps.

“Is that a no?”

One chirp.

Cindy laughed, clapping her hands, amused. “Either this is a crazy happenstance or you can _understand_ me,” she cheered. “What would you say to some testing? Hmm?”

Two chirps, then Aranea took off, landing on the moulding along the wall, far out of reach. Her wings fluttered, almost as if she was insulted, before turning to stare through the glass sliding door. Cindy watched her, amused, before heading to the hallway and dialing the small phone there, turning the rotary with a wide smile.

“ _Eos Teck, Biology Department._ ”

“Get me Sania, will you? It’s Cindy.”

“ _Just one moment._ ”

There was a click, then a high, “ _You never call me at work._ ”

“I think Prompto’s bird can understand me.”

“ _That’s strange._ ”

“Yeah. I was asking her yes or no questions and she was responding. Maybe you should look into super sentience or something like that.”

“ _Honey, there’s no such thing as super-sentience._ ”

“Yeah, well… Oh, goodness, she’s staring at me.” Turning to face the bird that had flown over to meet her in the hall, perched upon the cord for the handset, Cindy gave Aranea a hesitant, “Hi.”

The bird offered an outstretched wing in greeting.

“Sania, she just waved at me. You can’t make this stuff up.”

“ _Look, if she’s still acting like that when I get home we can… play a few games or something. I have to get back to work._ ”

Cindy twirled the cord around her finger, watching in amusement as Aranea hopped off and flew down the hall and into Prompto’s room. “Have a nice day, sweetie.”

“ _You too, hon._ ”

...

When Prompto got home that night, he was met with the sight of his parents putting together a tiny obstacle course, of all things. He, being six, paid it no mind, announced he was home, and went straight to his room. “Aranea, I’m home.”

The bird perked at this. “I think I intrigued the bigger humans.”

Prompto’s face pulled. “Really?”

“Yes. Yellow mom started talking to me today.”

“Talking? Did you talk?”

“A little.”

“Did she understand?”

“I doubt it.”

Prompto pulled a face. “But why not?”

“ _Honey?_ ”

“Yes Mom?” he called in reply.

“ _Could you come out here? Bring Aranea._ ”

Prompto turned to the canary, who puffed up with pride. “You’re right.”

“What made you think I wasn’t?” she chirped.

They stepped into the living room, Aranea perched on Prompto’s shoulder as his parents watched closely from the coffee table.

Sania patted the seat to her left, as if to cover the bird perched atop his shirt, before he stepped slowly forward and sat on the cushion laid out for him.

“We’ve got a game for Aranea to play, if she wants,” Sania informed him softly.

“Aranea is mine,” Prompto found himself insisting. “She’s not a frog.”

It took a while for his mother to respond. Her lips curled, amused and warm, before she answered, “I won’t take Aranea.”

Flying from his shoulder to a small perch on the course, Aranea chirped once.

Sania watched on, amused, as Cindy took over.

Pointing between the hoops and strings that had painstakingly been erected, she informed Aranea that for the game she was to fly through the hoops and then pull the string with food on it.

Aranea scoffed.

“She just wants the food,” Prompto announced.

Aranea promptly flew over to the final perch, looked at the strings criss-crossing into the jar, and tugged at the one that tied onto a single piece of cherry.

“Well,” Sania marveled softly. “She’s at least as smart as a raven.”

...

Everything changed when Prompto saw a movie about witches.

The moment he got up he’d grabbed the broom, pretending to zoom around the house, making noises with his mouth.

“Do that outside,” Sania had scolded him. “You’re going to break something.”

“‘Kay,” he’d replied, throwing open the sliding glass door and racing into the yard. Aranea had followed, as she always did, watching him from a distance as he sprinted through the tall grass. “Sania Momma was right. You should be careful.”

“Zoom!” Prompto shouted louder.

Aranea went quiet at the shout, then sighed. “Flying isn’t a joke,” she called out to him as he began to jump in place. “It takes concentration. You have to watch where you’re going at all times. Especially because your kind thinks it prudent to have _glass_ everywhere. It’s dangerous.”

Prompto paused, then glanced her way. “Concentration?” he asked. “Well I’m human. I won’t fly.” But even as he said it his eyes fell closed and his hands wrapped tight around the handle of the broom. He stood in silence for a long while before his feet…

His feet weren’t touching the ground.

Lashes fluttering slowly open, he took it all in with a long, shaky breath. The grass fanning out beneath him. The breeze, growing faster around him. He turned to Aranea, where she flew at his side, glancing about the broom in awe. Excitement rose in him, and he opened his mouth to shout, “I can fly!” only for his stomach to _jerk_ as the broom shot to the side.

Even if he had seen the tree, he didn’t know how to stop.

...

Cindy was on her way out the door to watch Prompto when Aranea flew in, tweeting madly as she perched on Cindy’s shoulder. As she took off into the yard, Cindy’s eyes landed on the small, prone form in the tree. “Sania, call an ambulance!” she shouted, sprinting away from the door to the closet. Tearing it open, she reached in for a tall ladder.

“What happened?!” Sania asked even as she raced into the hall, picking up the phone.

“Tell them he fell from a tree!”

“ _Tell_ them?! What happened?!”

Cindy disappeared out the door with the ladder without another word.

...

“Your son has a mild concussion and a broken arm,” the doctor told them. “He may not remember the accident.”

...

He remembered the accident.

Little arm flailing in its cast, Prompto cheered a high, “and then I _flew_ , moms. It was so scary.”

“Stop moving your arm, sweetie,” Cindy advised warmly. “You need to heal.”

“But _Mom_ , it doesn’t _hurt._ ”

“That’s the pain medication, honey.”

Prompto was quiet for a while after that, then asked, “So if I’m a witch, what does that mean?”

Cindy’s lips pursed.

“It means,” Sania began slowly, “that we’ve got a big secret to keep.”

“How big?”

Sania spread her arms. “This big.”

“That’s big.”

“Yes, it is.”

...

Finding books on witches was difficult. Especially when the source was taken into account. Whenever they found a book that was relatively accurate it was about the witch hunts across Niflheim.

They couldn’t give those to Prompto. Not when he was seven.

So they waited until he was nine.

“So that’s why there aren’t any witches,” was all he said when he finished the book. “Can I go outside?”

“We should have given it to him sooner,” Sania complained when he’d left. “He’s a tough kid.”

Grabbing her jacket, Cindy had shrugged. “The longer he doesn’t have nightmares at night, the better.”

“I’ve been thinking about God lately.”

Cindy froze. “That’s a little out of the blue.”

“Is it?”

“What about Him?”

“I’ve been thinking… if Prompto is an abomination, then maybe something was mistranslated.”

Broad shoulders relaxed. “The more I get to know our son, the more I think a lot of the Bible isn’t right.”

“Maybe we should stop going to church.”

Slowly, Cindy nodded. Then, bending to press a kiss to her partner’s forehead, she offered a low, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

...

Prompto was ten when the library got a book on witch traditions. The writer was a witch two countries over, cataloguing her culture.

“Apparently they - we - go on pilgrimages.” His eyes narrowed at the page. “When we’re thirteen.”

“Thirteen?” Sania repeated, surprised. She wheeled her chair up beside her son, eyeing the book skeptically. “‘When a witch turns thirteen it is an important rite of passage to leave home for a year. It is said that tragedy befalls the witch that cannot complete this pilgrimage, and spells bad luck for their future.’ Well I’ll be… darned.”

Shifting in his seat, Prompto looked up at his mother and asked, “Do you believe in bad luck?”

She hummed, placing a single finger on her chin. “I think it matters less what I think and more on what you believe,” she replied eventually, tone light. “A pilgrimage like this might help with the boundaries of your anxiety, as much as it worries me. You’re very capable for your age so I don’t think you’d have too many problems. Paying bills and making rent, that is. But where would you go?”

“Lucis.” The answer was out of his mouth before she could look at him, hanging in the air. “That’s where the lady who wrote this is from, right?”

Sania nodded quickly. “It would make sense to go there. You could ride your broom out in the open.”

Prompto nodded firmly, staring down at the book in deep concentration.

“Do you want to go?”

“Yes,” was the immediate answer.

Sania grinned. “How about we start preparing immediately, then? An allowance, maybe, for an apartment. And a bank account. Maybe call someone over there and you can arrange for a job in a few years. It’s a pilgrimage after all. We can’t help you directly.”

Blond hair bobbed as the boy nodded along, eyes refusing to leave the page.

...

Prompto stopped being able to go to school at eleven, when his generalized anxiety took a turn for the worse. He refused to leave his room for days at a time, becoming jittery and scared whenever he left.

“Maybe you’re allergic to people,” Aranea commented one day, half serious. “Or maybe you need new pills.”

They started him on new pills a week later.

He eventually left his room.

His parents decided to home-school him.

...

Between the cycling changes in his medication and therapy, Prompto managed to prepare for his pilgrimage.

It was the twenty-fifth of October when he left. Rain poured heavily over their heads, and his moms walked him to the train station. He wobbled beneath the weight of his backpack, the head of his collapsible broom sticking out from his bag just enough to draw attention.

“The sister bank to ours is only a few blocks from your apartment,” Sania reminded him softly. “You can do your banking there. Do you have those notes we wrote you?”

Prompto nodded, feeling as if he were shrinking. What was he doing? He was going to fail. He was going to fail and get stuck with bad luck forever.

Cindy drew him in for a hug, arms winding around the thickest part of him like the gift it was. “We love you, Prom-pom. Remember to call, okay?”

“I will,” he promised. Hoisting his bags, he patted at his pocket. After making sure his passport was there, he set off toward the woman waving people forward.

“Travelling alone?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied softly, handing over his tickets and passport.

Glancing over them briefly, she nodded and handed them back. “Everything seems to be in order. Why don’t you head on up? The train should arrive in a few minutes.”

Feeling entirely too unprepared, Prompto stepped through the barrier and up to the platform. He took a seat, not quite sure what he should do. The platform was quiet. Only a few people milled around; the majority of them in stiff uniforms that buttoned up to the throat. Prompto wanted to leave. To go home to his room and cry for a few hours. Instead he pulled out his water bottle, downed a pill, and waited.

The train arrived in a few minutes, like the woman had said, and then he was told to show his tickets again before they had him board. It was a relief, being told what to do. He settled into the seat assigned with his ticket, his bags stored securely in the bins above him. Then, and only then, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief.

No going back.

Not for a year.

...

Prompto emerged from the train in another country. The sky was clear and the clouds scuttled about before the sun, sending a pleasant shadow across the earth. For a long time he just sat, peering down at the map in his hands.

“Are you going to fly there?” Aranea asked, hopping about her cage. “You can fly here, right?”

He shrugged, hands unconsciously reaching for the bristle of his broom. “Maybe,” he answered, skeptical.

“Do you think we should try?”

He didn’t answer at first, though he brought his broom out of his bag. For a long time he stared at it. Was it time?

Silence settled in his very bones as he considered the pole. Then, extending the telescoping handle, he mounted the broom and shot up like a bullet!

His feet didn’t touch the ground for a long time after that.

From the air - from above the houses and a few sparse businesses that lined the streets around the train station - there was a wide view across the town. People moved from street to street. Birds preened on gutter edges. In the distance, the ocean sparkled in the blinding light of the sun.

No one seemed to care that he was flying.

He felt invisible.

For a good hour he did nothing but fly. He looked over the new town, eyes roving curiously over the small market and sandy beaches. Peeling off his shoes and socks, he dragged his feet through the water for a good while, admiring the fish just below the surface.

He felt _invisible_.

...

The apartment complex Sania had marked on his map was a small affair. The building was green with blue shutters, peeling in the evening light. Inside looked to be in better shape when he worked up the courage to head inside, door heavy in his hand.

In seconds an old woman was eyeing him, squinting beneath her heavy glasses at the boy in her office. “Can I help you?” she croaked.

Prompto swallowed nervously. “I’m, uh, Prompto Aurum? You talked with my mom.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Ah yes! Pilgrimage boy!” she exclaimed loudly. She quickly waved him forward. “Sit down; sit down. I’ve got some papers for you.”

...

The room was small with a Murphy bed that folded out from the wall. Prompto barely managed to get his pack off before collapsing on it.

Perched on the windowsill, Aranea asked, “Can you get my seat up? I need to poop.”

Sliding lazily from the bed, Prompto grabbed up the bag and reached inside, assembling the perch quickly before collapsing back on the bed.

Alighting on the bar, the bird gave him a look before asking a soft, “Are you overwhelmed?”

“No,” he lied wetly, face buried in the musty sheets.

“Are you going to take your meds?”

“I don’t need them.”

“What if you get worse?”

“I won’t get worse.”

“Liar,” she chirped dryly.

Rolling over, Prompto gripped his chest against the tightening, pulsing pain that fluttered up from his arms into his throat.

Aranea began to preen as a whine hit the air. “Take your meds,” she insisted again.

Prompto sighed, then got up again, took a mouthful of water from the kitchen, and swallowed down the little white pill that sat at the bottom of his bag.

For the next while the chest pains faded, and in their place sat a fog that clouded his head.

“You need to unpack,” came the friendly reminder atop the perch.

He didn’t move.

…

At his first day of work, Prompto washed dishes until his arms were sore. And then some.

When he got home, Aranea was immediately on his case. “Food,” she snapped. “You need to eat. Let's go shopping.”

“No…” he whined. “I don't want to.”

“There were those stands by the ocean. Let's go there,” she insisted sharply. “You can whine about being tired after you eat.”

Rolling off his bed and onto the floor, Prompto slapped his hand about in the general direction of his broom, knocking it to the floor and crawling atop it. Levitating up, he slid into a writing posture. “Okay,” he groaned. “Get on.”

Flying from her perch, Aranea landed on the tip of the broom with a light, “Lazy.”

“Very,” he fired back. He floated over to the door, leaned forward, and opened it for himself. He closed it with his foot. “Did you do anything fun today?”

“Hardly. You left the window closed.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Scatterbrain.”

“Yeah,” he agreed softly. “I'm a scatterbrain.” The air was colder in Lucis than it was back home. His cheeks were red in minutes, chapped by the wind. He flew lower and lower to avoid the gusts that kicked up off the water until he was flying through the streets, hands clutching his broom through the light shiver that crept up his arms.

Ten blocks like this and he froze in place, eyes fixed through the windows of a small store that sat innocuously on one corner of the street. The front was entirely glass, with small plants displayed for all to see. Bottles line the walls, labeled and occasionally locked behind the case. Behind the counter sat a boy with a book. His clothes were black. His hands were gloved. But what most caught Prompto’s attention was the hat atop the boy's head. Dark. Wide-brimmed. Pointed. A witch's hat.

Art by FlyKiwiFly

As modern looking glasses turned up towards him, Prompto turned away and hurried down the street.

“Where are you going?” Aranea asked.

Prompto is quiet.

“What if he's a witch?” She insisted again. “You need to get his attention. Go in! Talk to him!”

“I can't.”

“He’s _cute_.”

Prompto flushed.

“I know you noticed the hat. Surrounded by all those bottles, he has to be a witch.”

“It's almost Halloween,” Prompto argued sharply, rising higher into the air until he could stare down at the houses as they passed. “It's probably just a coincidence.”

Aranea chirped at this. “It's probably not a coincidence,” she argued. “What if you're missing out on something big? What if you're missing out on a chance to figure out what you should be doing on this pilgrimage? I know you have a lot of questions, and this might be your only chance to have them answered.”

“If he works in the shop, he'll be there tomorrow,” Prompto argued.

…

The next day was a long one. Prompto woke at 5 in the morning and went to work. It was an 8-hour shift; the longest he's ever worked. His hands were sore, and his back ached from picking up the things he's nearly broken. But when he finally emerged from his shift, taking his pay in a small envelope, he made for the library.

There were signs that lead the way throughout the town, bright green with white lettering that point down streets and away from parks. When he finally arrived his legs were sore. He just wanted to go home. Instead, he took a moment. He waited outside the front doors until someone walked in, then followed, feeling more out of place than he had felt since he'd arrived in the town. It was a smaller library than he was used to, and for that he was glad. A breath of relief escaped him as he stepped through the 2nd row of doors, entering the library for the first time.

The woman at the front desk looked kind, at the very least. Plump, like him, and wearing an apron smudged with dust. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“I was wondering if you... If you had anything on witches,” Prompto asked, nervous.

She blinks, surprised. “What?”

“Do... are there any books on witches?”

Her answer was a shrug. “Not particularly. Do you have any specific questions about them?”

“I... It's complicated. But I'll take anything you have.”

She smiled. Standing slowly from her chair, she brushed at her apron with a low, “Nonfiction, right?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Her smile only seems to make him more uneasy.

“I don't think I've seen you here before,” she noted warmly, heading off down the rows.

Prompto shook his head. “I'm only here for a year. I'm on my pilgrimage.”

She paused. Then, turning to him, she blinked owlishly. “Pilgrimage? Like, a witch's pilgrimage?”

He answered with a slow, nervous nod.

“You're a witch?”

“Yes.”

“Then... why do you need books on witches?”

He waited a long moment before answering. Before his mouth dropped open with a deceptively calm, “I'm adopted.”

She stared down at him for a long time, then continue down between the rows  until they reached a shelf labeled nonfiction. Snatching up a few titles, she motioned for him to follow. They made their way back to the counter as she called quietly back to him, “I could give you these, but I have a feeling I have a better resource for you.”

“What kind of resource?” he asked.

Rounding the counter once more, the librarian took her seat, slapping the books onto the counter before reaching for a pen, and plunging into her pocket, she produced a small napkin and began to draw. “Some witches live here in town. Three of them, I think. They're around your age. You might want to talk to them.”

“Witches here in town?” he repeated softly.

It wasn't long before she handed him a small map, pointing to a building that she had circled on the inked grid. “You can't miss their shop,” she insisted. “It’s full of plants.”

Prompto had nodded, unsure, before taking the napkin with a quick thank you before leaving.

As soon as he left, Aranea  shot to his side, tweeting a sharp, “That was fast. Did you find anything?”

“There are witches in town,” he replied softly, waving the napkin before her.

She huffed, smug. “I'll bet it's that boy.”

Prompto flushed. “You're still going on about that?”

…

The map was easy to follow, if easily smudged. But the building it lead Prompto to was not the one with the boy with the glasses behind the counter. It was to a small nursery with a glass front just around the corner. The boy had to be about his age, with dark hair and bright blue eyes that shone even from a distance. As soon as Prompto stepped through the door, he was greeted.

“How may I help you?” the boy asked.

Prompto gripped the hem of his shirt. “I, ah... are you a witch?”

Drawing away from the large pot he had been tending, the boy looked Prompto dead in the eye, pot to hip, and asked, “Yeah. What about it?”

“ ... I am too.”

In an instant the sharp guard melted away into passive curiosity. “Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

They stood awkwardly for a long time before either of them made a move. Before the boy sent an awkward glance at the clock.

“Hey, I'm closing soon. Want to meet some of the others?”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“S-Sure.”


	2. Coven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Arnaud for editing on this chapter and [Kiwi](http://flykiwifly.tumblr.com) for the AMAZING fanart! [Check it out on her tumblr!](https://flykiwifly.tumblr.com/post/168132052453/fanart-for-besin-is-a-moogle-love-in-a-bottle) I'm putting it in the fic. *Heart*

The gentle creak of floorboards and the soothing smell of freshly cooked food eased across Prompto’s senses. A dog wound through his feet, huffing lightly as he passed through the back door without issue.

“Don’t mind Umbra,” the dark haired boy called behind him as they trekked across a small yard to another, larger house. He pulled open the back door, cupped his hands around his mouth, and called, “Hey, Ignis, we’ve got company!”

_“Lunafreya or Crowe?”_

The boy paused, turning sharply to ask. “What’s your name?”

“P-Prompto,” he answered stiffly. “You?”

“I’m Noctis.” Spinning on his heel, Noctis stepped through the door and motioned for him to follow. “Says his name’s Prompto.”

Then, there he was. The boy with the hat. Standing at a stove range, wooden spoon held aloft in his hand, he couldn't have been more than eighteen. Holding out a hand, the boy with the hat offered it in greeting. “It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Ignis Scientia.”

“Hi. I'm Prompto. Aurum. Prompto Aurum.” Prompto felt very insecure in that moment.

They shook hands briefly, and then the man retreated back to the stove. “What brings you to our table tonight, Prompto?”

Pink lips fell open, but nothing found its way out.

“He's a witch,” Noctis eventually put in on his own. “He's new to town, too.”

“ A pilgrimage, then,” Ignis noted warmly,  lips curling in amusement. “May I ask your skill?”

“Skill?”

“Yes, skill. For example, I'm a green witch. I make potions and the like. Mostly small enchantments. Noctis here raises plants for Magical use.“

“Oh…” He paused. “I, uh, wash dishes?”

“Dishes?”

“Well, yeah. I had to support myself somehow.”

Reaching for the dials of the stove, Ignis twisted them down and shifted the pot away from the heat. Turning to Prompto, his expression pinched as he once more asked, “Dishes?”

“Yeah.”

“You can wash dishes with magic?”

“No, by hand.”

“By _hand_?”

“Yeah.”

“What coven are you from?”

“I'm not.”

“Pardon?”

“I'm not from a coven.” Prompto could feel their eyes boring through him at the words. Was it really so strange? “I'm adopted.”

At that moment, from another room came a slam. A creak and the heavy stomp of footsteps. _“Work was a chore today,”_ echoed a sharp complaint before a tall, young man half fell into the room and collapsed into a chair. Dark brown eyes closed against the room, feet propping against the table as the young man groaned a low, “Why do I feel like I’ve missed something?”

“Gladio, would you kindly get me the number for the Duscae coven? I’ve got to finish dinner,” Ignis asked, snatching up the spoon once more before setting the pot back on the heat.

There came a groan, then a soft grunt as his boots were removed from the table. “Just got situated and you’re already sending me on errands.”

“Thank you,” was the earnest reply.

It wasn’t until Noctis leaned in, placing a warm hand on Prompto’s bicep, with a small, “Are you alright?” that he realized that he was shaking.

“Is this serious?” he asked instead, voice quivering and breaking in the center.

The response was a discouraging, if honest, shrug. “I dunno, man.”

Ignis was serving up plates of sliced bread when Gladiolus returned waving a small notecard. “You really need to sort that thing alphabetically.”

“Sorting it by skill works better for my needs,” Ignis shot back drily like it was an old, longstanding argument. Snatching up the card, he removed the food from the heat once more and sighed. “Do _not_ dish up before we’re back,” he warned the others before turning to Prompto. “Follow me.”

Nodding quickly, he hopped to comply.

The house was three stories; that much he recalled from the outside. Inside the wallpaper was neat and dark; recently wiped, if a touch tacky. Either they were playing up the witch angle otr they were legitimately that witchy. Not that he knew that much, about witches.

They moved into the shop with the bottles lining every wall, the light from the streetlamp pouring in from the glass front of the store barely illuminating their way.

Making no move to turn on a lamp, Ignis brandished the card with a sigh. “Where are you from, by the way?”

“Niflheim,” Prompto replied quickly. “Just outside Gralea.”

For a long moment Ignis remained perfectly still, then turned to Prompto with a baffled, “Niflheim?”

“Uh… Yeah.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, sending his glasses askew, a long sigh pierced the air.

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m simply beginning to understand your lack of a Coven,” he explained softly. “Pray tell; how did you get to Lucis? You can’t have flown that far.”

Prompto gave a slight shrug. “Train.”

Ignis hummed, then turned back to the phone, only to pause again. “Why here?”

“Huh?”

“Why Lucis?”

Prompto couldn’t bring himself to speak for a moment, floundering to find his voice before managing a high, “Kimya Auburnbrie.”

A blink. A gentle, “What?”

“Kimya Auburnbrie,” he repeated softly.“ Her book said she spent a lot of time in the forest around this town.”

“Her book?” he asked, shocked. “Kimya wrote a book?”

“Witch Culture and the Delicate History of Witch Burning,” Prompto named softly. “It was one of the only books written by a witch that I could find in the library.”

“She’ll be here in a few weeks.”

“What?”

“She visits,” Ignis clarified, a bit thrown. “You can meet her in a few weeks.”

“... Oh.”

Lifting the phone off the receiver, a large hand poised to dial. “Not to cut this off too soon, but dinner will get cold.”

Prompto nodded, watching on as Ignis began to dial. Dread built in his stomach. Had he done something wrong? Were they going to send him home?

“Yes, this is Ignis Scientia.” His voice almost seemed older. More… mature. “May I speak with Ezma Auburnbrae?” He paused. “Yes, please. I’ve come across a young boy on his pilgrimage with no skills and no ties to any coven.

Prompto shifted as Ignis hummed softly.

“Yes, well, he’s from Niflheim. Yes, you see my dilemma.” Another hum. “Kimya Auburnbrae, actually. Apparently she wrote a book. Yes, I- Ten? Ten years ago?” He spared a glance Prompto’s way, then turned back. “That would explain why she hasn’t mentioned it, yes.” Another moment of silence passed, broken by a polite, “Yes, I don’t mind waiting for a call back. Thank you. Have a good evening.”

Blue eyes watch on, fear touching the corners, as the older boy said his goodbyes and hung up the phone, then turned to him.

“Let’s eat, shall we?”

…

“This is… really good,” Prompto found himself admitting over a bowl of stew.

Ignis inclined his head politely. “Thank you,” he said softly. “As a kitchen witch, it’s good to know my efforts are appreciated.”

Pushing a bit of broccoli around his bowl, Noctis remarked a sly, “You should taste it when he’s trying.”

Green eyes narrowed sharply at this. “Are you implying something about tonight’s meal?”

Gladiolus snorted.

“No way! No, man! No, it’s… It’s really good!”

Ignis’ eyebrows arched, but after a brief silence he returned to his soup without further comment.

It was a while before anyone spoke. Before Gladiolus broke the silence with an all-too-mature sounding, “So where are you staying?”

Feeling suddenly as if he were on trial, Prompto attempted to swallow back the sudden lump in his throat that formed just as quick as the attention. “Oh, uh… nowhere special. An apartment.”

“How’d you afford the apartment?”

“I’ve, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been doing chores for a while; saving up.”

“How long?”

“Three years,” he choked out. Did he have to answer these questions? He didn’t want to. “Although I might not have enough.” He wanted to die. “Sania Momma said I could just come home, though, if it doesn’t work out.”

Gladiolus snorted, leaning back in his chair.

“Don’t you dare put your feet on the table while we’re eating,” Ignis drawled sharply.

Gladiolus shifted back. “Fine, whatever,” he spat before turning back to Prompto. “You can’t go back early. It’s seriously bad luck.”

“Is it?”

“ _Massively_.”

“It is said,” Ignis cut in, “that one who cannot complete their pilgrimage will be unable to succeed in anything.”

“But…” Pale hands found the edge of the table, gripping it firmly against the sudden bout of tingles that gripped him. “I’m thirteen. I can’t even drive yet.”

Leaning back in his chair, the older boy adjusted his glasses with a nonchalant, “Magic is magic,” before taking a smooth sip of his soup. He sighed, then, hand falling back to the table to rest. “Honestly, it’s unlikely the coven will be able to do anything. It’s bad luck to intervene.”

Prompto blinked. “But… isn’t what you’re doing right now… Doesn’t that count as intervening?”

This earned him a shrug from Gladiolus. “We’re not a coven,” he replied shortly.

“Then what are you?”

Noctis broke in, grinning, with a firm, “Friends.”

…

“It’s for sleeping, mostly, but Ignis likes to put it in his concentration tonics. He says it’s good for the brain to wind down as it’s winding up. He and I disagree on that a lot.” Noctis had started off kind of quiet, but the more he talked about his plants, the more he went on. He told stories about each one. Opened up. Smiled.

The greenhouse was smaller than Prompto remembered, despite it only having been a few minutes. Despite the size, it contained more types of plants than Prompto had ever seen in his life. Each one had been lovingly planted in a pot, full to bursting. “How do you sell these?” he asked, surprised. “You only have one of each.”

“I do special orders,” was the immediate reply. “I don’t give them a whole plant – I use a special hormone to put a clipping to root, and that’s what people pay for. You’d be surprised how many people want to say they grew something from a clipping. It’s a bragging rights thing. It’s weird.”

“Yeah,” Prompto agreed. “Weird.”

There came a knock at the back door, and they both glanced back to find Gladio peeking into the store. “They called back. Iggy wants you.”

Pale lashes fluttered, surprised. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Now get out here.”

Prompto jumped to follow, nervously waving to Noctis, who turned back to his plants, before racing out the door. He wrapped his arms around himself as an icy breeze blew through him. But before long he was back in the store, taking his shoes off, and being ushered through the kitchen, down the hall, and back into the potion store.

“Yes, here he is, now,” Ignis said plainly, waving Prompto forward with his free hand. His hat was back, plunging his face in shadow even as light flooded in from the front windows. “Prompto, we’re going to need your parents’ name and address, as well as a phone number if they have one.”

“Uh, sure,” he agreed softly. “Want their names, first?”

“Yes, please.”

“Cindy Aurum,” he began.

“And how do you spell Aurum?”

“A-U-R-U-M.”

“Good. And your father?”

“I don’t have a dad. My other mom’s name is Sania Yeagre.”

Quickly, Ignis covered the mouth of the phone with one hand and turned to look at him seriously. “Prompto,” he began softly, “what kind of partnership do your mothers have?”

“They’re gay,” he replied, not missing a beat. “They adopted me together,” he added in the following shocked silence. Then, “They’re my moms.”

Ignis nodded slowly, then said, “There's no father, no. He's adopted. Yes.”

“You spell Sania-” Prompto began before a hand slapped firmly over his mouth.

“I'll draft a letter to her, yes. There's no phone number.”

Prompto watched him lie smoothly, eyes wide with shock as his chest grew cold.

The phone was set on the receiver. Ignis breathed a sigh. Slowly, his hand was removed. “My apologies. I wasn't sure how she would react to the idea of… two women.”

For a long time Prompto didn't reply. There was something in his stomach. Something like dread. Something like fear.

It was probably fear.

“My apologies if I alarmed you,” Ignis continued smoothly. “The coven is more likely to help if you align with their interests.”

“So if someone was gay, they wouldn't help?”

“I don't know.”

“Why do you think it matters, than?”

“Because that's the way things are.”

“What about the threefold law?”

“What do _you_ know about the threefold law?

Prompto shrunk back, hands flying to the Hem of his shirt.

With another long, tired sigh, Ignis murmured a low, “I'm sorry. I just… I don't put much faith in them.”

“Then why call?”

“Because they're adults,” was the immediate reply. It was too firm; too sure. “They have more experience in these matters. They decide what to do.”

“Aranea would say adults don't know that much.”

“Prompto, I'm fifteen. I'm not…” A sigh. A motion with a stiff hand. “I'm not prepared for these kinds of decisions. This belongs in the hands of the coven. I can't just do whatever I want because… because I'm not sure if the leader of the closest coven is… Are you alright?”

“I'm fine.”

“You're shaking.”

“I do that.”

“Do you have a condition we should be aware of?”

“Moderate to severe generalized anxiety.”

“Moderate…” Ignis began, shocked. “You're thirteen.”

“I was diagnosed at four.”

A face was made at this before Ignis’ hand met the counter, and he carefully took a seat on the tall stool at his side. “It’s getting a touch late,” he segued smoothly. “It might be a good idea for you to spend the night.”

“Spend the night?”

“Yes. We’ve got a spare room in the attic.”

…

They loaned him a nightgown, which Prompto stared at for a long time before fighting to get it over his head. It refused to go much further than his shoulder, billowing out around his throat and making him want to cry.

Pulling his clothes back on, he went to the window and threw it open. Aranea was on the sill in an instant, chirping sharply.

“Took you long enough! I thought you’d never let me in!”

Prompto smiled at her before taking a seat on the bed. It was firm, but he could feel the springs. “Sorry Aranea.”

“What’s done is done,” she drawled. “Have you taken your medication yet?”

“Yeah. I took it after dinner.”

“Good. Good,” she sighed. Flying up from the sill, she landed gracefully on Prompto’s shoulder before pecking playfully at his hair, pushing some strands in place. “Are they nice?”

“Yeah,” he replied quickly. “Really nice.”

“Good.”

...

It was early morning when there came a knock at the door. Then, Prompto hurried to answer it, racing down the attic stairs to wrench it quickly open.

Gladiolus stood outside, smiling softly. “Morning,” he greeted.

“Morning,” was the hesitant reply.

“Just wanted to make sure you slept alright.”

Prompto blinked, then nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

A laugh followed, low and amused. “Not a fan of nightgowns?”

“It…” He cleared his throat. “It didn’t fit,” he admitted.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“So what’s with the bird?” Gladiolus asked at last, almost as if he’d been bursting at the seams to ask.

Prompto took a moment to answer, taken aback. “She’s… Aranea.”

“Aranea?”

“My familiar.”

It was a long while before Gladiolus reacted.  Before he let out a low, “Huh,” and turned appraising eyes to the bird on Prompto’s shoulder. “That’s pretty unusual.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah.”

“But I thought…” Prompto paused, to clear his throat. Then again as it attempted to close on him. “I thought crows used to do the bidding of witches and stuff like that.”

“Not for a long time,” was the dry reply. “Still, I’ve never seen someone with a bird for a familiar. Seems a bit tedious.”

Aranea puffed up at this, feathers standing on end. “I’ll show you tedious if you open your big mouth one more time.”

“He didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Prompto attempted as the bird on his shoulder steadily inflated.

“He called me tedious.”

“Did I insult her?” Gladiolus laughed. “She looks so angry. That’s hilarious.”

Aranea lunged.

…

Prompto stood nervously nearby as Ignis bandaged Gladiolus’ eye.

Aranea hopped angrily on his shoulder. “Teach him right,” she tweeted smugly. “Don’t insult a lady if you don’t want to get hurt.”

“Stop gloating,” he hissed softly.

“Good to know she’s gloating,” Gladiolus snorted.

Prompto flushed, eyes turning away from the bird at his shoulder to the boy before him. “She says she’s sorry.”

A deep laugh sounded, followed by an amused, “Don’t _lie_ to me.”

Aranea continued to hop, as if taunting him. “Not so tough now, big human.”

Prompto shushed her.

“We can’t understand her,” Ignis reminded softly, placing the last bit of tape on his friend’s face before drawing back to reach for a fluffy hand towel. He wiped quickly at his hands, passing the cloth between his fingers until the dark ointment faded from his skin. “She can gloat all she wants so long as no one else gets attacked.”

“It was self defense!” she spat at him. “My honor was on the line!”

“No it wasn’t,” Prompto argued softly. “And you haven’t said you’re sorry yet.”

“Because I’m _not_.”

“Just apologize and promise you won’t do it again.”

“Who are you? Sania?”

“Aranea… This isn’t like a stray cat! Gladiolus isn’t some bird who ticked you off. People will ask questions when it scars. It’s going to be really awkward for him, and he’s going to have to deal with the fallout because your ego was too fragile to take two off comments!”

Ignis started at this, glancing up from the cloth as he took in the words. A small smile lit on pale lips, twisting an otherwise serious face into something similar to amusement.

Turning away from the bird, Prompto muttered a low, “I’m sorry about her.”

Gladiolus finally dissolved into laughter at this.

“How about,” Ignis shouted over the noise, “we get breakfast started?”

About ten minutes later, Noctis walked in and took a seat at the table, eyes firm on tape and bandages. “What happened to your face?”

“An angry bird.”

Blue eyes turned on said angry little bird, skeptical. “Is she still angry?”

“No,” Prompto replied softly.

“Good. I like my skin attached,” he drawled as a plate was set before him. Immediately his eyes landed on the omelette, scrunching, scandalized. “Peppers, Iggy?” he complained.

“They’re good for you,” was the glib reply.

“But they’re _gross_.”

Prompto watched, amused, as Noctis went about picking all the vegetables out of his omelette one by one. “Don’t want those?”

“No. You want ‘em?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t encourage him, Prompto,” came the gentle scolding from across the table as Ignis settled into his seat.

As Noctis loaded up his plate with the vegetables, Prompto made a face. “Aren’t you a gardener?”

“Just because you can grow something doesn’t mean you should eat it.”

“Noctis here,” Ignis began, earning the attention of the room, “accidentally ate some wisteria as a child. Which, as you may know, is highly toxic.”

“They’re just gross,” came the dark rebuttal. “Vegetables, I mean. Not wisteria.”

“I should hope wisteria counts as gross.”

“Hurry up and eat. We’ve got to open in a few hours,” Ignis scolded softly. “Don’t you have to work, as well, Prompto?”

Shooting to attention, he nodded quickly. “Yeah, I…” He trailed off, unsure. “What… What time is it?”

Pushing up his sleeve, Ignis looked down at the plain watch wrapped around his wrist. “A quarter to seven.”

The color drained quickly from Prompto’s face.

“Is something wrong?” Gladiolus asked, holding a bag of peas to the gauze on his eye as he squinted at Prompto suspiciously.

“I…” He cleared his throat, nervous. “I have work at seven.”

A collective sigh worked through the group.

Hands clapped firmly together as Ignis commanded the attention of the group.

On Prompto’s shoulder, Aranea settled in and stared up at him, amused.

“Now then, here’s the plan. Gladiolus, you’ll be prepping my shop while I take Prompto home.”

“Pretty small plan,” Gladiolus drawled. Rising to his feet, he groaned as his back gave a series of small cracks. “Man, it’s getting cold.”

Ignis sighed. “Yes, it’s about the time that flying is impractical,” he noted softly. “No matter; we don’t possess a car. If Prompto’s to be on time, flying will have to do.”

Prompto watched the exchange quietly. Watched Ignis as he listed off some pick ups for early morning before motioning for Prompto to follow and heading out into the entryway in the back; something Prompto had mistook as a  hallway before. Fingers curling around the top of a closet door, he wrenched it open despite its loud protest, revealing a series of straw brooms. Snatching up the largest, he set it against the wall before closing the closet and opening another.

The coat he got looked old, with patches on the elbows and a heavy hood lined with fur. It was a deep black, only seeming to grow darker as it was pushed into Prompto’s hands. “Here. The higher we go, the colder it gets,” Ignis warned.

A bare nod was the response as short arms began to work at the coat, pulling it on. By some miracle it fit, though it covered him clear to his shins. Then he watched, amused, as Ignis grabbed at the same wide-brimmed hat he’d seen him wear the day before and slip it on his head.

Ignis paused, glancing down at the boy beside him with a low, “Is something amusing?”

Prompto belatedly felt the wide grin tugging at his cheeks. “Uh…” He swallowed, the question burning hole in his stomach. “Not really?”

A large hand motioned as lips turned down, a touch exasperated. “You can ask me anything.”

Prompto felt like maybe it was the other way around. Despite this - despite the nausea suddenly burning in his stomach or the budding anxious headache - he braved a high, “Do all witches wear those hats, or is it just you?”

Amusement touched on pale lips. “Yes,” he replied at first, cheeks flushing. “I mean… No. Some wear them, yes, but it’s a personal preference. Personally, I’m a touch light sensitive. The brim is helpful when dealing with that.”

Prompto blinked. “Light sensitive?”

Pulling on a coat of his own, Ignis motioned to the door with a nod of the head. “How about we continue this conversation in the air?”

Nodding quickly, Prompto zipped up the coat until it reached his chest, then waddled out the door after Ignis.

It was a brisk morning. There was frost on the grass, hinting at the coming winter season. A bitter breeze rushed through the backyard, rustling their hair and coats.

Leveling the broom, Ignis mounted it with the ease of long practice. His legs swept over the handle, and he waved Prompto froward. “Come, now. Let’s get moving.”

So he did. Sitting on the broom side-saddle in an attempt to spare the jacket, Prompto wound his arms around the thin waist before him, holding tight.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. We’re taking off.”

Ignis flew high.

Very high.

As soon as their feet cleared the level of the houses around them, Prompto began to panic. They kept rising. Kept climbing. Then it began; the heavy air. The dizzyness. The nausea. Gripping Ignis tighter, Prompto loudly wheezed, “I have asthma!”

Within seconds they were dropping. The air around them calmed and Ignis’ voice hung between them, calm and firm. “What’s a good altitude for you?”

“Second story.” Prompto managed weakly. “Just above the second story.”

“Second story it is then.”

The rest of the flight was uneventful, with Prompto clinging to Ignis’ back throughout the ride, slowly but surely eased his arms out of a death grip.

As they landed before the restaurant, Prompto half falling off the broom, Ignis leveled him with a low, “Light-sensitivity means light hurts my eyes.”

Prompto turned.

Their eyes met.

Shifting back to the restaurant, Prompto practically ran through the doors, the heat high in his cheeks entirely unrelated to the wind that had chapped them. He tried to ignore how Ignis’ words felt like they required a response. How rude he had been for not saying goodbye or thanks.

In the safety of the staff room, he took a heavy breath from his inhaler.

…

The moment Prompto’s shift ended, he half-sprinted home, unlocked the apartment, and snatched up his broom. He was out the door in minutes, flying up above the houses and making his way to the shop. The moment he landed he earned an impressed whistle from Noctis, who was tending the bushes in front of his store.

“A metal broom?” he observed quietly, watching in amazement as  Prompto collapsed the telescoping pole. “That must be hard to fly.”

“I never really thought about it,” he admitted, tucking it in his backpack before straightening. “How’s, uh… How’s the shop?”

“Same as it always is,” was the light reply. “A little slow in the afternoon. I’m closing up in about half an hour. Wanna hang out while I get everything ready?”

“Sure.” Prompto replied warmly. He watched in amusement as Noctis moved a few pots around. As some were watered and others were pruned. As one plant in particular was harvested, and the berries tossed into the fireplace roaring in the corner, keeping the room warm. Only a few plants were near it; the rest a safe distance from the blaze.

“Is that to make the room smell nice?”

Dark hair shook at this as a laugh broke the air. Amused. Embarrassed. “I forgot - you probably don’t know much about this stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Tributes,” he replied, voice warm. “That was a tribute to Siren, goddess of sex, fertility, and gardens.”

Prompto barely resisted the urge to cover his ears. Nevertheless they burned in embarrassment. “Goddess of… s…” He swallowed hard. “Gardens, huh?”

“Yes,” Noctis laughed. “Gardens.”

“So a tribute is like… a thank you?”

“You could put it that way, yeah.”

“And you just… toss herbs in a fire place?”

“It doesn’t have to be herbs. On holidays and special occasions we burn animal bones. Chicken. Beef. That sort of thing. It can also be something specific to the God or Goddess. Like pearls.”

“And that…” Prompto paused unsure about the words ‘gets you their blessing’. Was it like a Christian prayer? You didn’t want anything in particular? But wait; usually in prayers you were asking for a blessing of some sort. Maybe being a witch with their many gods was much the same.

Maybe it wasn’t as ‘different’ as he thought it was.

Maybe he didn’t have to think so hard on it.

Flipping the open sign, Noctis locked the front door, then turned to Prompto. “Five o’clock. Time to go home.”

Hopping off the counter, Prompto followed him back through the store and into the backroom. A switch was flipped, plunging the room into darkness before there came the click of a lock and the door opened into the yard.

In an instant Aranea had flown in, setting on Prompto’s shoulder. Umbra raced around their feet, panting happily.

“Yeah, boy. I’m glad to see you too,” Noctis laughed, locking the door in their wake. Motioning for Prompto to follow, he stepped over to the main house. It was unlocked.

Gladio sat in the kitchen, face still bandaged, a glass of something in his hand. “Looks like we’re fending for ourselves, tonight,” he drawled.

“Basement?” Noctis asked.

“Basement,” came the glib reply. “Prompto, do you know your way around a kitchen?”

“Uh… Not really. I can, uh… make breakfast food okay.”

“Cool. Noctis is your sous chef. I’m off to do some deliveries.” Hopping out of the chair, he sets the empty glass in the sink before striding out the door.

Prompto watched him go, curious. “Deliveries?” he asked.

“Ignis’ potions are sometimes for people who can’t leave their houses easily for one reason or another. Like they’ve got anxiety or a broken hip or something. Gladio delivers them for him so he can focus on dinner or potions.”

“And tonight that’s potions?”

“Yup.”

…

The eggs were runny, the sausage overcooked, and the toast soft, but Prompto pushed away the anxiety that accompanied his cooking quality as he stared down a tall, thick door. Instead, a different kind of anxiety rose. An unnamed nausea budded in his stomach, threatening his dinner. But despite this he squared his shoulders, gripped the plate in his hands closer to his body, and opened the door.

What appeared was a long staircase. The landing seemed so far off from the top. Distant. Almost forbidden.

Taking those first few steps, Prompto bent forward to observe the basement curiously. His lashes fluttered in disbelief at the sight. At the scene right out of a movie.

Bottles on shelves lined the walls. Every inch of space seemed to have a function. Unlike the shops on the main level there appeared to be very little walking space: the majority of the floor taken up by a multitude of cauldrons. A majority of them were filled almost to the brim with different concoctions; the colors ambiguous in the low light. Among it all was Ignis, hat off and bangs sticking straight up in the moist air.

A stair cracked.

Ignis’ head shot up, eyes wide in surprise. “Prompto,” he noted weakly. Clearing his throat, he managed a dry “Good afternoon.”

“It’s, uh, evening actually,” Prompto corrected hesitantly. He held the plate out, suddenly overtaken with a wave of some unnamable sensation somewhere between wanting to disappear and the unshakable desire to fill the silence. “Eggs?”

A bare nod was the reply, followed by a sheepish, “My thanks. I’m a touch famished.”

“I’m not surprised,” Prompto noted softly. “It’s almost nine.”

Sigh burning through the air between them; Ignis stepped forward to accept the plate of soggy eggs over the railing. “Unfortunate. I was hoping to be further along by this time.”

“Further along in what?”

“Nothing important.”

“Nothing,” Prompto quoted. “Nothing made you miss dinner?”

Taking a large if nervous bite of the eggs, Ignis’ expression twisted for a brief moment before he set the plate on the nearest bookshelf.

Prompto tried to keep the disappointment off his face.

Motioning down the stairs, Ignis reached into his back pocket to produce a small leather notebook. “How about I show you?” he suggested.

Moving slowly down into the basement, Prompto coughed lightly as the humidity only seemed to increase. It pushed  on his lungs. His chest burned with the effort to breath. “Could, uh… could we crack a window?”

A blink. A soft, “What for?”

“The air is… thick.”

It took a moment for Ignis to catch on. For him to step over to the meagre square of a window and pry it open. “My apologies,” he threw over his shoulder. “I’d forgotten about your asthma.” He wiped his gloves on his pants, streaking dirt along the legs. He groaned. “Goddess help me…”

Prompto couldn’t help the small burst of laughter at this, hand flying over his mouth.

Glancing up, green eyes settled on an empty shoulder. “Where’s Aranea?”

“Upstairs playing with Umbra,” was the happy reply. “I think they get along well.”

“Good…” Ignis murmured. Taking the small notebook once more in hand, he placed it atop a desk littered with loose paper. “Come take a look at this, will you?”

Nodding quickly, Prompto appreciated a small puff of fresh air from the window before he stepped up to Ignis’ side.

He smelled musty; like herbs and old books. His glasses gripped the tip of his nose - the end big and fleshy -  like a lifeline as he bent over the desk. His jaw was sharper and more defined than it should be for a boy his age, catching the light and making him appear far older.

High in Prompto’s chest came a sharp _thump_.

“This,” Ignis said, hand waving over the table, “is my parents life work.”

Blue eyes turned to the table, overlooking the sheets, - the numbers, the notes, the diagrams - with nothing short of awe. “You understand all this?” he asked, shocked.

“Most of it,” came the strong reply. Then, almost sheepish, “ _Some_ of it. At least, I think I do. It’s all rather advanced.”

“Is it potion stuff?”

“Yes.”

“And what _specifically_ made you skip dinner?”

Ignis sighed once more, pushing his glasses his nose with a drawn expression curling up about his face. “A heart tonic,” he replied softly. “One to strengthen the system after a heart attack.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Yes. I get… absorbed. I forget the time.”

“My moms would say you needed an alarm clock.”

There was hesitance at this. A moment of awkward silence that followed and soured the thick air.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No. No; Just…” Ignis glanced nervously at the stairs. At the door just barely cracked at the top. “Maybe don’t mention your mothers so casually.”

Prompto blinked. “Are Gladiolus and Noctis homophobic?”

“I don’t know,” came the all-too-quick reply. “I don’t… I’m not _sure_.”

“You _live_ with them. How do you not know?”

“It’s never come up.”

“Well-”

“Let’s not talk about this right now,” Ignis spat. “They could come in at any moment.”

“Yeah, and so could my moms!” Prompto fired back. “What if they come to see me? Are you going to send us away so you don’t have to have this conversation with them?”

“I’m not going to send you away,” he argued softly.

Suddenly the anxiety hit Prompto’s stomach like a brick.

Silence settled between them.

Slowly, Ignis turns back to the table. “Prompto, I… I’m sorry. I’m simply not in a good place to bring up something like that at the moment. Not with them.”

“Why not?”

“I’m just… not.”

…

It was a few weeks before Ignis brought Prompto upstairs. A few weeks of dinners and helping Noctis prune and learning about thanking the world for everything it gave and everything you took. Prompto was catching on. At least a little bit. He still had issues with the ‘multiple gods’ thing, but was told time and time again that he shouldn’t bother with it if it doesn't work for him. “To each their own,” Ignis had told him. Ignis with the neat hair under his hat. Ignis with the strong jaw and sharp eyes. Ignis with the steady hand and steadier voice.

Ignis, whose room was immaculate and packed with books.

It reminded Prompto of his room back home.

Snatching up a tome from the shelf, Ignis presented with a wide smile. “This was my first grimoire,” he announced softly, pushing the book toward Prompto. “Go on. Take it.”

Nervously, he did.

“There are a lot of spells in there that are safe for beginners,” Ignis continued warmly. He was smiling in a way that was almost too wide. Too eager.

Prompto’s stomach flipped at the sight.

“Let me know if you need any ingredients,” he added after a short moment of silence. “I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”

Prompto was on edge. His eyes refused to leave the book; a hushed conversation in a moist basement still a fresh mark on his anxiety. And yet he took the book with a rushed, “Thank you,” that sounded strange even to his ears.

“You’re welcome.”

…

That night, huddled over a mason jar that glistened softly, surrounded by a small mound of table salt, Prompto whispered, “ _This_ is _magic_.”

The words rang through the empty apartment, heard only by him.

He immediately wrote his mothers a letter.

…

A month later, Prompto stared down a Yule log with open surprise.

“This is a weird Christmas,” Aranea chirped from his shoulder before flitting down to the table. She picked up a bowl of rice before returning to her perch.

Stepping further into the room, Prompto turned his eyes on Ignis, who seemed to be beside himself at the stove.

“Yeah,” he agreed softly, peering down at the table skeptically. “It is.”

At his side came a snap, then a small cascade of confetti. “Merry Midwinter!” Gladiolus announced. His hair had been cut short; almost as short as Ignis’. It looked strange.

“Midwinter?” Prompto repeated, confused. “But it’s Christmas Eve.”

“Yeah, but Iggy says we can’t close the shop during Midwinter because it hurts profits, so we celebrate during Christmas instead,” he drawled back, collapsing into his usual chair. “Iggy, can I have at least a _little_ bit of the feast?”

“No,” came the sharp denial.

“Business minded,” Aranea noted softly. “I like him.”

Prompto rolled his eyes. “I get it. You like Ignis.”

“Yes, I do,” she drawled back, indignant, before taking off from his shoulder to perch on Ignis’. Tweeting prettily for him, she opened her mouth wide.

True to form, the older boy reached inside his pocket to produce a small bag of seeds.

“Bribing the Valkyrie, I see,” Gladiolus snorted.

“Are you Christian, Prompto?”

Prompto glanced up from the Yule log, startled. “What?”

“Are you Christian?” Ignis repeated.

He paused, thinking, before he answered. ‘I mean… sorta? My parents are, but I don’t remember them ever being super religious. I’ve never thought about faith much.”

A small smile lit on pale lips at this. “Then we’ll have to introduce you to some of our customs as witches. Not that you’ll find them much different. To be quite frank, Christmas stole quite a bit from Midwinter and Yule as far as holidays go.”

Prompto stared. For a long tense moment that was all he could do. Then, with a nervous shift and an awkward, “‘Kay,” he took a seat at the table.

“Look at you, Iggy. Nearly scared the boy off.”

“Shut it, Gladiolus.”

It was then that Noctis strode in and collapsed on the seat at Prompto’s side with a drawn out groan. “Ignis, why is a piece of wood sitting on the kitchen table.”

“It’s the Yule log.”

“Yeah, I get that. But why is it on the _kitchen table_?”

“Because I put it there before I started cooking and left it there.”

“That would do it,” Gladiolus commented.

…

With candles lit about the room, Ignis threw one last bit of dinner into the fire with a quick, polite, “Thank you, Shiva, for bringing us together,” before returning to the table. “Now,” he began, clapping his hands and rubbing them animatedly together. “Presents.”

Prompto raised his hand quickly. “Can I give mine first?”

Ignis smiled. “I don’t see why not.”

Jumping up, he raced into the threshold, taking hold of the small pile of poorly wrapped boxes there before sprinting back into the kitchen. Passing them out, he urged them quickly to open them.

Noctis stared down at the new trowel, apparently lost for words.

Gladiolus seemed far happier with his pens and notebook.

Meanwhile, gripping the pajamas between wide hands, Ignis seemed to be at a loss.

“Do you like it?” Prompto asked, unsure.

Slowly, Ignis brought them to his lap. “I do,” he began a bit softly. “It’s just a bit of coincidence.” Reaching into the gifts they piled on a chair, he offered a small package to Prompto with a sheepish, “My gift for you.”

Fluttering in from the next room, Aranea landed on the package with a bright chirp. “Want any help with the tape?” she asked eagerly.

“You already ‘helped’ with my dinner,” Prompto drawled.

“I’m a canary,” she fired back. “As much as I ate, you wouldn’t have missed it.”

“Let me open it on my own.”

She huffed. “Fine.” Then, with a high cheep she took off to alight on ignis’ shoulder.

True to form, he produced a bit of dried fruit from his pocket.

Digging his fingers into the seam of the package, Prompto carefully pulled the wrapping apart before peering in at the gift.

It was… black fabric?

Pulling out the gift, Prompto gave it a cautious once over, holding it up with both hands. There, printed with little witch hats and yellow brooms, was a stark black nightgown of his size.

“How did you even find something like that?” Noctis marveled softly. “It’s cute.”

“It appears we had similar thoughts about what to give one another,” Igns noted warmly.

…

As the evening wound to a close, and everyone had begun to climb into their sleeping things, Prompto heard a knock. Hopping down the stairs, hand trailing along the smooth railing, he threw open the attic door to find Ignis. The new pajamas fit his pale complexion… but his eyes.

His _eyes_.

Hands fisting in the fabric of his nightgown, Prompto stared up into those eyes with more bravery than he knew he had. “Hey.”

Slowly, ignis turned. “How do I look?”

Prompto, with more honesty than he would admit, replied with a high, “Good. You look good.”

“Excellent,” Ignis said, drawing to a stop. “They’re very warm. You have my thanks. You chose my size well.”

“I’m glad you like them.”

A smile met the words, wide and shy. Then, motioning to Prompto’s nightgown, he asked, “And how is my gift treating you?”

A firm nod later, he insisted quickly, “the breeze is great!”

At that moment came the distant, notable voice of Noctis calling through the house; “The breeze beneath my balls.”

Prompto flushed.

Up the stairs, nested on her perch Aranea snorted. “Coarse little one, isn’t he?”

Ignoring the entire thing, Ignis stepped a touch closer. “We’ll be toasting tonight. We’ll be starting soon, actually. Would you like to join us?”

“Toasting?”

“Thanking the gods. Mostly Odin.”

“Okay… Is… Is it okay for me to join something like that?”

What followed was a smile. Green eyes seemed to sparkle. “I’m inviting you, aren’t I?”

…

It was cold on the main floor, the fire burning low in the hearth. Gladiolus tended it faithfully as Noctis broke open a pack of candles, handing one to Prompto.

“A candle?” he asked. “I thought we were toasting.”

Noctis groaned. “Ig-nis!”

“ _Yes?_ ”

“You didn’t tell him about the wishes?”

“ _I’d forgotten_.”

“You shit.”

“ _Watch your language_.”

“What wishes?” Prompto asked softly.

Turning back to face him, Noctis shrugged. “We light some candles on the Yule log and make a wish. Then we wait for them to burn down and go to bed. Since _Ignis_ insists on an early bedtime, we’ll be doing it _during_ toasts this year.”

“Nothing wrong with a healthy sleep schedule,” Ignis defended smoothly, striding into the room wrapped in a robe. It was long and black, accenting the pajamas nicely. “Is everyone ready?”

“Cards are on the table,” Gladiolus announced, drawing away from the fire to snatch up his own candle. He took a cup from beside his socked feet, taking a deep drink before rising unsteadily to his feet.

As he passed, Prompto caught the scent of alcohol. He refrained from commenting.

“Alright,” Ignis began, reaching for his own glass. “Youngest first. Prompto, that’s you. Light your candle in the fire, would you?”

“Uh… okay.” Rising carefully to his feet, he held the candle out toward the fire with heavy anticipation. How close would he have to get? The candle was pretty short. He eased forward with this on his mind, the heat from the fire wearing against his skin. When the candle finally lit, he drew it back slowly, then placed it in the cup Ignis offered him. “What now?”

“Now you make a wish,” Noctis told him, stepping forward to light his own candle. “We wait for the candles to burn out and talk and eat and stuff. After that we go to sleep.”

Another cup was pushed into Prompto’s face.

“And,” Ignis added, “we toast.”

“And play cards,” Gladiolus put in, waving to the deck.

Prompto watched Ignis light his candle with something akin to envy. Envy for the enthusiasm that sparkled in green eyes. Envy for the easy, if small, grin on his lips.

They played cards long into the night. Prompto fell asleep against the table, only to be woken by Gladiolus some hours later to find his candle had burned out and the night was over. This time it was regret that churned his stomach.

He’d never made that wish.

…

The next morning dawned bright and cloudy, silence quickly broken by a few hasty raps on the attic door.

Prompto rolled over, eyeing the stairs with something akin to anger as he flopped out of bed. The floor was cold as he padded across the room, still wrapped in his blankets. There was a nip to the air; the windows frosted over. And as Prompto reached for the knob to the attic door, he shivered at the frigid touch of it before pulling it quickly open.

Wrapped in his own blankets, Ignis stood outside, a letter in his hand. “My apologies,” he began softly. “It appears that in all my preparations and haste of late I’ve forgotten to check the mail.”

Slowly, not quite understanding, Prompto nodded. “Oh.”

As if sensing this, Ignis sighed. “We’ve gotten a letter from the Coven. It’s addressed to the both of us.”

“Oh!” he said again, louder. “What does it say?”

“I don’t know. It seemed inappropriate to open it without you.”

Nodding quickly, Prompto half stumbled up the stairs, hiking the blankets up around his knees. When they got to the top, he stood in place, then followed Ignis to the bed. They sat quickly and the letter was opened.

Shoulders squared. A throat was cleared. Then Ignis began to read, voice clear and firm. “To our colleagues in the South, Ignis Stupeo Scientia and Prompto Aurum.”

“Your middle name is Stupeo?”

“Says the boy without one.”

“Fair.”

“To our colleagues in the South,” he repeated. “We apologize for an oversight in the discovery of young Prompto or the lack thereof. However, due to the…” He paused, glancing up at the boy in question before wetting his lips. His gaze turned back, and his voice grew soft. “...due to the delicate timing of his arrival to your own shop, it is with a heavy heart that I must inform you this is out of the Coven’s hands. Any intervention at this time would result in dire consequences for all parties. And thus it is fitting that the witch who found Prompto should find him suitable employment for the sake of his magical livelihood. Signed Ezma Auburnbrae.”

Prompto watched as Ignis’ hands fell. As the letter sat upon a narrow, bony knee. “What’s wrong? You said this would happen. Why are you surprised?”

“I didn’t think they would do _nothing_.”

“But you said you did.”

Silence followed.

Prompto glanced down at the letter, pulling a face. “What do you think they mean by ‘suitable employment’?”

A groan. A sigh. “They very likely don’t approve of you washing dishes as a form of support during your pilgrimage.”

“Then… what am I supposed to do? Fly in _circles_ all day?”

Ignis glanced up, surprise plain.

“What?” Prompto asked.

“That might not be a bad idea.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Your apartment… Do you have a lease or a month to month arrangement?”


	3. Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to [Coffee](http://saturnvalleycoffee.tumblr.com) as usual for the wonderful editing skills, and Arnaud for his invaluable help.
> 
> I wanted to post this on midwinter, but things got in the way. So happy belated winter equinox, and may you have a merry Yule!

Carefully drawing the bottle of oil up along the length of his broom, Prompto stuck the nozzle in the seam where the extension met and drew it around the edge.

In front of the stove, Aranea pecked at a pitted cherry on Ignis’ shoulder.

“You should stop spoiling her,” Prompto called. “She’ll get uppity again.”

Aranea flapped her tail at this, turned, and went back to the cherry.

Prompto leaned back in his chair, enjoying the loud  _ creak _ that groaned through the air. “Spoiled bird,” he drawled, eyes shifting to his empty plate. His fingers found the smooth curve of the silverware, playing with it idly as Noctis and Gladiolus stumbled sleepily into the room, falling into their respective chairs as he had watched them do for weeks.

At that moment, a large black cat with three legs hopped onto the kitchen table.

“Oh? Gracing us with our presence are you?” Gladiolus drawled, arm falling onto the table, outstretched lazily toward the feline.

There came no response. No flick of the ear like Umbra would give or a flap of the tail like Aranea. Instead there was a concentrated stare and the gentle shift of legs.

“Gilgamesh, no,” Gladiolus snapped.

A tail twitched.

Gilgamesh leaped at Ignis’ back.

Prompto watched it all, fascinated, as Ignis lurched away from the sensation of claws landing and digging into his shoulders and back. As Aranea, once perched on his shoulder, took to the air. As their breakfast was moved quickly off the stove and a thin, stocky body moved away from the counter, arms batting at the cat clinging to a broad back.

“Down!” Ignis shouted, swatting at Gilgamesh with his empty hand. “Bad cat! Down!”

Leaping to his feet, broom and oil clattering to the floor, Prompto snatched the cat up quickly, attempting to lift it sharply up and remove its claws from what had seconds before been a very nice vest. There were runs in it, now; noticeable holes that sent a pang through his chest.

Ignis liked that vest.

Dropping the suddenly passive Gilgamesh to the floor, Prompto watched as Ignis quickly undid the buttons, taking off the garment to observe the damage. “Is it okay?” he asked.

Green eyes closed firmly, and a sigh broke the air. “Nothing I can’t patch.”

“Little daemon,” Aranea spat from the top of the fridge. “You’ll never touch me!”

Gilgamesh lunged for the counter.

Gladiolus was there in a second. He caught the cat around the middle, then strode over to the door to the hall, wrenched it open, and tossed Gilgamesh through with a low, “Leave the bird alone, furface.”

Blond eyebrows arched, shocked. “Wow.”

“What?” Noctis asked. “This is normal.”

Prompto shrugged, glancing first to the door, then back at Noctis. “Just, like… Gilgamesh really acts like a cat, you know? You’d think a familiar would be more… you know.” He motioned with his hand.

“That’s right you oversized ball-licker,” Aranea continued from the top of the fridge. “Go lick yourself somewhere else.”

The silence that fell after was a thick one. Prompto’s eyes turned to pinched expressions. To tight grimaces and a sad-looking vest. “Did… Did I say something?”

“Go ahead and tell him,” Gladiolus snapped, stepping out into the hall that he’d just locked Gilgamesh in.

Prompto shrunk, hands drawing up to fiddle with the hem of his shirt.

“I have a potion to check,” Ignis announced suddenly, stepping away from the counter and out of the room.

Noctis glanced around the empty room before throwing his arms up in exasperation. “Sure,” he drawled. “Put it on me. This isn’t weird or awkward at all.”

“What’s going on?” Prompto asked, skeptical.

Noctis’ eyes shifted to the door, then back again. “I’m… probably the worst person to explain this.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve barely been here longer than you,” he replied easily. He shifted in his seat, wincing as the wood gave an ominous  _ creak _ in reply. “I’m also the least involved, aside from you, so it’s kinda weird.”

Prompto fiddles with the hem of his shirt, glancing to the next room. “Do you want me to ask Ignis?”

“Well, apparently they want me to tell you, so I might as well.”

Then a silence settled between them.

Awkwardly, Prompto cleared his throat. “Well?”

“Gladio lost his powers.”

Silence.

Blue eyes blinked, confused. A pale hand rose in question, then fell.

Hands falling into his lap, Noctis breathed a long sigh. “Well, when a witch loses their path, the Gods may give them a trial. Their powers disappear, and usually they don’t come back until you figure out what your calling is. This affects everything from how you think to your familiar’s ability to communicate.”

“So…” Prompto’s eyes shifted once more to the door, then back to Noctis. “So Gladio can’t talk to Gilgamesh?”

Noctis shook his head. “Nah, man. It’s been over a year, now. There’s a good chance Gilgamesh is just a cat, now.”

“Like… a normal cat?”

“Yeah.”

“Not a familiar?”

“That’s what I mean, yeah.”

Reaching for the chair at his side, Prompto fell heavily into the seat. “Wow,” he whispered softly. “I didn’t know that could happen. Do you know how the other familiars took it?”

A shrug followed. “Ignis’ familiar was hit by a car a few years back and Umbra and I weren’t around for any of this, so I don’t know. Umbra says he can’t communicate with Gilgamesh, though, which is weird since she can communicate with other animals. It’s like all contact has been cut off.”

…

It’s a Thursday when Prompto asks, “What’s Gladio’s talent?”

Ignis glances up from his book, surrounded by large bottles – special orders – that they had been sorting and packing into large, padded containers. Turning back to the book, Ignis made a mark on the page with a light, “He doesn’t have one.”

“So…” Prompto paused, fiddling for a moment with the hem of his shirt before reaching once more for the shallow pile of pads and sliding it in to replace one that had torn, poking at it with a stick of glue. “So he’s like me, then.”

A hum broke the air, followed by a contemplative, “Yes, I supposed you’re in similar positions, if different contexts. Although…” Working at a label, he carefully peeled it off a bottle before putting it on straight. “Your situations can’t be compared.”

“Oh…” Hands stilled at this, hesitating over the container as they closed around a small bit of padding.

After a moment, Ignis set down the bottle he had been fiddling with. “Why don’t we take a break?” he suggested warmly.

“What? No. I mean – I can keep going,” came the hurried insistence. Small hands moved quickly to put the padding in place.

Rising from his seat, Ignis clapped his hands firmly. “And early lunch is in order. Come with me to the bakery, will you? We can talk on the way.”

…

They managed to get all the way to the bakery without speaking a word, keeping a swift pace through town that made Prompto’s legs burn. They bell jingled as they stepped into the shop.

“Good Cooking Pan Bakery,” the girl at the counter greeted. “How may I help you?”

“Two sweet buns, please,” Ignis requested softly, reaching into his pocket to hand over a few coins.

On Prompto’s shoulder, Aranea hopped closer to his ear. “Why didn’t he just send you for the sweet buns?” she asked. “Why did you have to close the shop?”

“He said he wanted to talk,” he whispered back, glancing about the mostly empty shop. “We were going to talk as we walked.”

“Well, that obviously hasn't happened,” she drawled.

Ignis turned back with an apologetic grin. “I can take a guess what you’re talking about,” he noted, holding out a bun in offering.

Prompto took it, listening to the crunch of the paper wrapper before following Ignis out of the bakery.

Aranea flitted to a broad shoulder, pecking at the sweet bun that was immediately held out in offering.

“Gladiolus, Noctis, and myself are from very old magical families,” Ignis began softly. “Or, at least, very strict ones.”

Prompto blinked, surprised. “I had no clue.”

Drawing the bun away from Aranea, Ignis broke off a piece for himself and chewed it quickly. “It’s not something we like to advertise. It can be difficult, being connected to such large names.”

“But what does this have to do with Gladio?”

A soft smiles broke over sharp features, the nose too big for Ignis’ face scrunching almost comically. “I’ll get to that.”

Prompto liked Ignis’ nose.

“My apologies. I’m particularly adept at beating around the bush.”

“It’s fine. You’re fine.”

Ignis laughed. It was a nervous sound. “Noctis has his plants; I have my potions. But Gladio had something of a crisis when he embarked on his pilgrimage. He came to live here with me. I was already on my own in this house by then…” He paused, eyes taking in the eager expression on Prompto’s face. “... which will be a story for another time.”

Prompto’s face fell. “But-”

“You asked about Gladiolus,” Ignis pointed out. “So you’re going to hear about Gladiolus.”

Pale fingers found the hem of his shirt, playing with the holes developing there. Was it bad that he was more interested in Ignis than Gladiolus?

Lips pursed, then dropped open in a sigh. “When he first came to live with me he worked odd jobs to get by. Mostly running errands before moving on to heavy lifting. His family has a long line of Tarot readers, with a branch into star reading and future telling in the more traditional sense. Crystal balls and the like. He’d been instructed for years by the time his pilgrimage arrived, but while he has all the knowledge and how-to, he’s never had a knack for premonition.”

“That blows,” Aranea chirped.

“Aranea says that’s terrible.”

“It is what it is,” Ignis replied easily. “But even though it’s been a few years, he hasn’t returned home and his powers have disappeared. He can’t fly. His familiar no longer speaks. He can’t produce working potions. He’s floundering.”

Prompto glanced down at his untouched sweet bun, contemplative. “He doesn’t  _ look _ like he’s floundering.”

“People rarely do.” Taking a large bite from his lunch, Ignis spared Prompto a look. “Have you been losing weight?” he asked.

“Um…” He hesitated before answering. “Yes?”

“You haven’t been eating much,” Aranea pointed out, flitting back to his shoulder.

Ignis blinked. “What did she say?”

“Nothing much,” Prompto replied.

“Liar,” Aranea snapped.

…

That night, Prompto pushed away his plate, trying to ignore the roiling in his stomach.

Ignis paused, eyes flying to the untouched dish before turning quickly to Prompto. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m just… not hungry.”

His gaze shifted to the plate, then back to Prompto. “Can you at least try to eat the meat? The calories are important.”

Shrinking back in his chair, Prompto kicked his feet beneath the chair, trying to ignore how all eyes had turned on him. “I can try.”

He finished half of it.

…

Around four in the morning, Prompto staggered to the bathroom and threw it all up.

…

Gladiolus found him at around five collapsed atop the toilet, sweating through his clothes.

Prompto could only moan as hands took hold of his shoulders, righting him on the lid. “Don’t move me,” he attempted to sputter, only to cough.

Flushing away the mess in the toilet, the older boy snatched up a washcloth and wet it quickly, wiping up what he could reach from a limp chin without jostling him too much. “Hey, hey,” he whispered, voice soft. “How long have you been here?”

A broken moan was the reply. A pale hand fell weakly from the toilet bowl, flopping to the old, cracking tile.

Brown eyes stared for a long moment. They took in the cold sweat across a flushed face. Clothes soaked through and clinging. Pale lips. The creak of the toilet as a single arm attempted to keep the smaller boy upright. “I’m gonna get Iggy,” he told him quietly. “We have to open shop in a few hours, but one of us should be able to take care of you. Think you’ll be fine for a few minutes?”

It took a moment to reply. A beleaguered, “Uh-huh,” breaking the air.

Reaching out, Gladiolus gently ruffled sweaty hair. “You’re a trooper,” he said, voice warm and sincere. Rising to his feet, he left the room.

Curling up around the porcelain, Prompto breathed a quiet sob as an ache settled into his bones.

…

He woke to the gentle whisper of words; smooth and even.

“... fourty-seven species under the name, belonging to the family of mint…”

Prompto’s eyes remained closed, allowing the words to wash over him. Enjoying the gentle droning even as his body ached from head to toe and his head felt as if it might wash away in the breeze.

Ignis’ voice was calm, cultured, and almost boxy with the way his consonants cut into the vowels. “... good for sachets and others direct uses once dried…”

“Hey,” Aranea chirped suddenly. “Prompto, stop pretending to sleep.”

Slowly, Prompto opened his eyes. Watched as Ignis paused in his reading to glance up at Aranea as she took off toward him. His gaze turned to the bird as she alit upon his pillow.

“You’re sick,” she told him firmly.

“I noticed,” he half squeaked.

“Feeling any better?” Ignis asked.

Shifting his gaze to the older boy, Prompto shrugged and immediately regretted it. “Everything aches.”

“I’ll see about getting you some painkillers. Do you think you could drink some broth?”

Easing up in his bed, Prompto glanced down as the towels piled about his person fell around him, dropping away from his naked torso. Quickly, he moved to snatch them up, only to groan and heave.

Ignis was there with a bin in seconds, petting his hair and whispering reassurances. “Try not to move,” he advised softly. “You’ll be fine. Just try not to move.”

…

Voices fluttered up the stairwell from the open bedroom door, and Prompto couldn’t help but overhear.

_ “Should we get a doctor?” _ Gladiolus. His voice was uncharacteristically panicked.

_ “We can’t get a doctor!” _ Noctis argued angrily. There came the thump of boards – a stomp?  _ “What if they call his parents? What if they don’t let him finish his pilgrimage?” _

_ “We can’t very well risk that.” _ Smooth, casual, calm. Boxy consonants and a gentle delivery. Ignis.  _ “I’ll put a letter through to Kimya; see if she can visit a touch sooner than usual and take a look at him.” _

There were a round of groans at this.

_ “She’s gonna give him something weird,” _ Noctis complained.

_ “Yes, well, that weird thing is gonna work,” _ Gladiolus spat.  _ “Even if Prompto’s going to hate us for the rest of the month.” _

_ “If Gladiolus keeps watching the shop on occasion like he has, I can keep up with Prompto’s potions. Deliveries might lag behind a bit, but that’s a given.” _

_ “Maybe once Prompto gets better he can be your new delivery boy,” _ Gladiolus suggested.  _ “Prompto’s Flying Potion Delivery Service. Trust me; the customers would love that.” _

_ “It’s a thought,” _ Ignis admitted.

In his bed, Prompto snuggled deeper within his covers, trying to breathe deep.

He forgot what he’d overheard ten minutes later as the first of the potions wore off and his fever jumped through his brain.

…

Ignis startled awake when a hand settled on his shoulder, arms flailing in an attempt to keep him in his chair as his entire body jerked away.

“Whoa, whoa,” Gladio cried, fingers clamping down to hold him in place. “Don’t die on me.”

Glasses were pushed up a large nose. “Gladiolus,” was the groggy greeting. “I’m…” He paused, eyes lighting on the window above Prompto’s bed, displaying the dapple of stars in the night sky. “My apologies. I must have fallen asleep.”

Thick eyebrows furrowed. “You okay?” he asked, voice soft. “You didn’t catch what Prompto has, did you?”

A head shook in a firm no. “No. No, I didn’t. I’m just… I’m tired.”

Pulling his hands away, Gladio dropped to the floor, reclining against the stair railing. “What’s the news?”

“He can’t keep anything solid down,” Ignis began, shifting in his chair for something more comfortable. “I think he’s lost a lot of weight.”

This was met with a grunt. “That can’t be good. Think it’s the flu?”

“If it were the flu one of us would have caught it already.”

“True.”

The words that came next were slow and calculated. “I’m worried about him.”

Turning his face up, Gladio’s eyes landed on a sharp expression that sent a tingle into his stomach. He glanced to Prompto, then back to Ignis. His lips pursed.

“Do you think Kimya has received my letter yet?”

From the bottom of the stairs came a creak.

Shifting against the railing, Gladio turned his gaze down the stairs, then smiled as an older woman started up into the attic. “I think she did.”

Ignis shot to his feet, moving the chair against the wall. “Kimya Auburnbrie,” he greeted, bowing politely.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” Gladio drawled as she got to the top of the stairs, stepping behind her and leaving the room quickly.

Ignis stepped aside as Kimya moved forward, gaze flicking from bundled towels to neat robes. He watched her as she paused before the bed, eyes steady and hands clasped pensively before her. “Any ideas?” he asked at last, expression taut.

“Sure, I cannot be,” she replied, voice crackled with age. Taking another step toward the bed, she reaches out with one gnarled hand, placing it on a pale forehead before drawing back. “Reduce the fever, you must.”

“I’ve already given him a few things for it.”

“Mere trinkets, there will be no effect,” she scolded. “For strong fevers are strong medicines wise to avoid them, unwise not to use them. How does he eat?”

Ignis hesitated before answering, expression grim. “I can get him to keep down broth. Rice or bread are too much for his stomach. Meat is out of the question.”

“Yes,” she confirmed softly. “Sounds a bit dicey, that does.” Lifting her arms, the woman reached into the carpet bag hanging from her elbow, quickly producing a small sachet for Ignis to take. “Powder this and mix it with his food.”

“What is it?”

“Cayenne.”

His nose wrinkled. “Cayenne?”

“Good for the stomach, cayenne is. Mix it with his soup, lower his fever. The rest is up to him to fight.”

“What do you mean?”

Motioning for Ignis to step closer, the witch reached for the uppermost towel and pulled it away. A smile spread out across her lips. “As I thought.”

“What is it?”

Her hand motioned to Prompto’s shin, to the fresh silvery stretch marks along his stomach, alongside older ones. “You claim he lost weight, so why is his skin stretching?”

“Because…” Ignis paused. “He’s growing.”

“It’s a growth spurt,” she stated simply. “Far too fast, he is growing. Time and love is all he needs. And the good stuff.”

Slowly, Ignis nodded. “What do I owe you for this?”

“Your concentration tonic, a batch will do. You put good work into those,” she cooed, placing the towel back over Prompto’s chest. “Goes down like milk, they do.”

“That can be arranged.”

…

“Figuring out that cayenne?”

Ignis glanced up, eyes landing on Gladio as he strode into the kitchen. Turning back to the stove, he pushed a bit of bone through a pot of broth with a wooden spoon. “Of sorts, it’s not a spice I’m much acquainted with, and certainly not something I’d use fresh like this. I wasn’t expecting it to be so…” He trailed off, attention to the surface of the soup.

“Spicy?”

“ _ Red _ ,” he insisted instead. “And it smells like it would sooner burn a hole in his stomach than help it.”

“Think you may have added too much?” Gladio asked, collapsing on his used seat. Snatching up an apple, he took a large, enthusiastic bite.

“I sure hope not.”

They existed in silence for a while after that, with the occasional clink of bones and snap of the apple filling the air until Gladio set the core in the compost bin and cleared his throat.

“You know, it’s been a long time since you went mother hen on someone,” he pointed out warmly. “I kind of miss when you would dote on me, honestly. It was nice knowing I was with someone who had it so together they could watch my back, you know?”

“You can take care of yourself.” The words came out half laughed; half bitter. “You don’t need my help anymore.”

“Sometimes I think I do,” came the bare confession.

Ignis’ hand paused, spoon deep in the broth beneath a bone that clattered down into the pot.

Slapping his hands to his knees, Gladio rose from his chair. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair.”

Ignis turned, gaze locking on the boy – the young man – striding out of his kitchen. “I could dote more, if you like.”

Pausing in the doorway, Gladio waved a hand dismissively. “Nah. You’ve got your hands full as it is.”

As the door was pulled open, then shut, Ignis stood stock still by the stove, green eyes fixed on the door knob until the broth threatened to boil over.

…

The broth attempted with each step to slosh over the side of the mug as Ignis slowly brought it up the stairs. It’s bright red; practically blowing beneath the lights. “It’s so red,” he commented to himself, not for the first time. Clearing the landing, Ignis approached the bed slowly. “Prompto,” he called softly. “It’s time to eat.”

The boy rolled over in his towels, sweat cascading down his face. “No,” he whined.

“Come now. Sit up for me.”

“No,” came another complaint. But even as the word hit the air he shifted, rising up until he was nearly perfectly vertical. His eyes blinked hard as they turned on the older boy, squinting. “Gladiolus?” he asked, voice weak.

“Ignis,” he corrected softly. Pulling the chair over, he settled into it with a sigh. “Can you hold a mug?”

A bare nod was Prompto’s reply.

Skeptically, Ignis handed it over.

Pale hands took it, then brought it up to flushed lips. But as nostrils flared and the first sip of the broth was taken, Prompto’s eyebrows arched in interest.

“Be careful. It’s spi-”

Tipping the mug toward him, Prompto gulped the broth down without delay.

“-cy.”

“So good,” Prompto groaned before he collapsed back into his towels, breath heavy and desperate.

Ignis watched the display, shocked, before reaching into his pocket to retrieve a small glass bottle. “Medicine time. Open wide.”

Lips fell open quickly.

Unscrewing the lid, Ignis removed the small dropper before holding it carefully over Prompto’s tongue. He counted as the potion fell in small drops – 1, 2, 3 – before drawing back, breathing a sigh. He closed and stuff the bottle back in his pocket. Reclined. Then, he watched as the potion took effect.

It was an immediate reaction. First eyes drooped. A mouth went lax. Then, all at once, Prompto began to snore.

Reaching a hand out, he placed it on a pale forehead. He blew out a long, relieved breath to find the fever had already receded. “The strong stuff exists for a reason,” he reminded himself softly, leaning back in his chair. His gaze turned to the window, then, lips pursing. “The strong stuff exists for a reason.”

…

It was dark when Prompto woke. The sky was black, interrupted by a spatter of stars and the moon that hung over the town, flooding his room with light. His head was clear. The bone-deep ache was gone.

Ignis was asleep in the chair, head lolled to the side and legs spread uncharacteristically.

Prompto rose slowly from his cocoon of damp towels, stripping the bed quickly before bundling them in his arms. He threw a quick glance at Aranea’s cage, still covered in its blanket, before heading for the stairs.

He paused.

Dropping the towels to the floor, he made for his dresser. Pulling out the top drawer, he quickly changed his underwear and pulled on his nightgown… and frowned. It hardly came to his knees, and the stomach was all stretched out. So were the arms. Had Gladiolus done the laundry again?

He shrugged it off, snatching up the towels once more and heading down the stairs. He made first for the laundry room, dropping his armload in the hamper. For a moment he stood over the machines, as if debating a load, before ultimately leaving the room. He ended up in the kitchen.

Then he backtracked to the bathroom.

After washing his hands and borrowing Gladiolus’ spray deodorant, Prompto half sprinted into the kitchen, snatched up the bread and butter, and proceeded to devour the loaf. He was halfway through when he first heard them; rushed footsteps and panicked voices falling from the second floor.

_ “- is he?” _

_ “- not in his room.” _

_ “He’s most certainly not in his room. His towels are gone, too.” _

“Guys, I’m in here!” Prompto called around the hunk of buttered bread in his mouth.

Thunder sounded – the angry stomp of footsteps on the stairs – before the boys half-fell into the kitchen, staring at Prompto in open wonder.

“What the heck, Prompto?” Noctis half shouted, racing to his side to smack a pale arm. “You could have woken Iggy.”

“But… he needs his sleep,” Prompto argued.

Gladiolus snorted. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

Stepping back, Noctis looked the boy up and down before demanding, “Dude, stand up.”

“What?”

“Just do it, man.”

Slowly, Prompto slid off the chair. Then, straightening, he looked Noctis dead in the…

… apparently not eyes.

“Prompto, you’re tall,” Noctis stated obviously.

Striding up to the boys, Gladiolus laughed. “You must have grown half a foot.”

Prompto sputtered, glancing  _ down _ to Noctis, then  _ across _ at Gladiolus. “I’m  _ tall _ ?” he gasped in disbelief. “What?”

Turning to Ignis, Noctis grinned wide. “Iggy, we should get Prompto’s first witch clothes!”

Gladiolus’ lips split in a wide grin, showing brilliant white teeth. “So excited, Noct!”

“C’mon, c’mon – let’s do it!”

“Where would we get them in this town?” Ignis drawled bitterly, drawing all eyes to him. He remained firm beneath the attention, crossing his arms bitterly as his eyebrows furrowed. “And with what money?”

“... Oh,” Noctis half sighed, disappointment wiping the grin off his face. Then, slowly, he looked back up, meeting green eyes expectantly. “What about your old clothes? The ones you were saving for me? They should fit him. And he needs something to wear, now.” He motioned to the nightgown. “His clothes obviously won’t fit him anymore.”

Ignis tensed.

“Kid’s got a point,” Gladiolus put in, taking up residence in his usual chair.

Again, all eyes were on Ignis.

Slowly, the boy nodded. “My old things should fit you,” he agreed. Waving a hand for Prompto to follow, he left the room with a clipped, “Come, now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompto's growth spurt is loosely based around one that my uncle had growing up, so yeah this does happen.


	4. First Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for [Coffee](http://saturnvalleycoffee.tumblr.com) and Arnaud as always for sticking with me through this 10k nightmare.

It was late June when Prompto stepped out of the attic with his own set of clothes. With a black vest and trousers that came halfway down his shin, showing off tall socks. His boots were thick-soled, lacing up over his ankles. He twirled for the audience, laughing. “So? Do I look witchy?” he asked.

“You look  _ skinny _ ,” Noctis complained openly from his seat on the floor. “And tall.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Prompto groaned, falling back a few steps to ease against the wall. He fiddled with the lowermost button of his vest, eyes firm on the floor. “Isn’t it healthy to be skinny?”

Seated atop a large crate, Ignis shook his head. “Not when you lose that weight by falling ill.”

“Oh come on. That was  _ months _ ago,” Prompto argued, stepping away from the wall to motion with his hands. “I jog, now. It’s good for my asthma!”

Eyebrows drew together as a throat was cleared. “Well,” Ignis began, lips pursing before he continued, “I can’t argue with that.”

Moving away from the far wall, Gladiolus swept a wide brimmed hat from behind his back and slapped it on Prompto’s head.

“Ooh, I get a hat, too?” he cooed.

“Well, it  _ was _ gonna be a joke,” Gladio snorted, “but it looks good on you?”

A grin spread across rosy cheeks, and Prompto struck a pose. Hand on his popped hip, leg out at an angle, he asked, “Do I look  _ really _ witchy now?”

“Prompto, you’re literally a witch,” Noctis deadpanned.

A pink tongue stuck out indignantly, wagging in the air like a worm.

“Don’t  _ move _ your  _ tongue _ when you  _ do _ that, man. That’s gross!”

Downstairs, the grandfather clock began to sound. I chimed eight times before its echoes hung through the house.

“Time to open,” Gladio announced.

Stepping forward, Ignis placed his hand on a pale, bare shoulder. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, gaze firm.

Prompto’s lips twitched into a soft grin. “Yeah,” he confirmed quickly. “Yeah, I really want to do this.”

They filed down the stairs all at once, a neat line forming before Noctis split away, heading for the back door. Prompto followed Gladio to the left, into the potion shop, Ignis at his back. He watched as a large hand took hold of the delivery carrier, lifting the large wooden frame easily before he bid them farewell and headed out the front door.

Flicking the switch by the door, Prompto squinted as the light flickered on overhead.

Stepping over to the basement door, sandwiched between a vase and the checkout counter, Prompto gently said, “If I need any help, I’ll call for you.”

“Good,” Ignis murmured. “Good.” He was slow to open the door; his eyes fixed on Prompto even as he moved towards the stairs. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Of course I’ll be alright. I have  _ you _ .” Even as the words escaped him, a flush rose in his cheeks. It was warm; burned his ears and throat as a soft chuckle broke the air.

“Just down the stairs,” Ignis reminded again, then stepped into the basement.

Prompto was quick to go about opening the store. Wipe down the counters, prop the door open, flip the sign. Before he knew it, he was behind the counter with nothing to do. Waiting.

It wasn’t for an hour – an hour of flipping through potion books and the pricing manual, gaping at the sheer amount of gil everything sold for – that the first customer came through the door. She was an old woman wrapped in a shawl, hobbling along on her cane. “My, my,” she crooned when she saw Prompto, eyes opening wide. “Am I in the wrong shop?”

“Are you here for one of Ignis’ potions?” Prompto asked, glancing up eagerly.

The woman laughed. “He’s a little young to have an apprentice,” she began, hobbling up to the counter. “But then, he’s been doing this since before his parents passed. Must have been ten years, now. Poor boy.” Then she smiled, laying her arms on the counter. “But I guess he turned out alright.”

Prompto didn’t know what to do with this information.

A wrinkled hand wagged. “Look at me; babbling like an old maid. I’m here to pick up a potion. It’s under the name Maria. It’s a special order.”

“Maria. Yes,” he squeaked. Leaping up from his stool, he reached quickly for a large bound book by his knees, slapping it on the counter before flipping it open to where a bookmark sat among the pages. Sliding his hand down the most recent page, he glanced from name to name before finding it with a cry. “Maria, Arthritis III.”

“That would be it,” she agreed sweetly, hand coming up over her mouth to hide an amused grin.

Slapping the book closed, Prompto made his way over to one of the cases, tugging it open and grabbing the bottle marked “Arthritis III.” It was high on the shelf; just out of his reach. He considered for a moment putting his foot on the lowermost shelf, only to pause. Casting his gaze about, he eyed a small footstool; just tall enough for his needs. Grabbing it up, he moved it before the cabinet and grabbed the potion before heading back to the counter.

He tried not to flinch at the price.

Maria handed it over gladly, passing the bills over the counter with a happy, “His potions work so much better than the painkillers the doctor gives me. He really is magic, that boy.”

“Yeah,” Prompto agreed readily. “He really is.”

Maria left before too long after collecting her change, waving goodbye to Prompto with a wide earnest smile that left him feeling warm and tingly.

It would be two hours before his next customer. Or, customers, as it were. A gaggle of girls passed the shop, eyeing him through the window. They passed by twice before entering, glancing about the store.

The one who seemed the oldest approached the counter with her wallet out. “Where’s the usual boy?” she asked.

“He’s working on potions today,” Prompto told her nervously. “Do you want me to get him?”

She shook her head quickly. “No. No. I just wanted a concentration potion. I’ve got a test coming up at school and someone said they’re good for studying.”

Pale hair bobbed into blue eyes as he nodded, pushed forward by his hat. Shoving it back, he turned to the shelf behind him. “What kind of test is it?” he asked.

“Math.”

Turning back around, he stated the price firmly.

Hesitantly, she handed over a small pile of change. “Help me count?”

Prompto did.

When it was all done and paid for, the girl thanked him sweetly, blush high on her cheeks. “What’s your name?” she asked. “I haven’t seen you at school.”

“My name’s Prompto,” he replied, not quite sure what to do with himself. “And I’m on my witch’s pilgrimage. I don’t go to school.”

She blinked, then sighed. “Wish I was a witch,” she grumbled. “Then I wouldn’t have to sit through math class every day.”

Prompto laughed.

“What?” she asked sharply. “What’s so funny?”

“You do a lot of math as a witch,” he told her honestly even as anxiety crept up into his stomach. He felt like shrinking. Was it okay to say something like this? He wouldn’t make her feel worse, would he? Was he already too late? “I do a lot of math every day.”

The girl made a face then sighed. “Maybe I don’t want to be a witch.” Then she glanced up, eyes surprisingly alert. “Do  _ you _ want to be a witch? Do you like it?”

Slowly, Prompto shrugged. “It’s all I’ve really thought of doing.”

“But do you like it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I really do.”

…

When four rolled around, Prompto finally got up from his stool and closed the door, locking it for the night and flicking off the lights. For a long while he stood there, unsure of what to do. Squinting around the room, he made his way to the counter. There, he paused.

Heading back over to the wall, he turned the lights back on before ducking beneath the counter. He quickly counted the contents of the till. Separated profits from change before unlocking the safe and storing both inside. Then, turning the lights off again, he headed into the basement.

There was a cloud of something heady in the air. Something that smelled fresh and sweet all at once. Steam rose from the cauldron in the center of the room, dissipating near the ceiling. Heading quickly down the stairs, Prompto made his way into the center of the room. But as he did so, he paused, eyes flying to the boy before the cauldron, bent over the rim to squint at the contents through fogged glasses. His hair, usually immaculately combed, stood straight up. Despite himself - despite several voices in his head telling him to stop - Prompto moved forward and carefully smoothed back the vertical bangs.

Ignis jumped.

“Sorry,” Prompto apologized quickly. “Your hair was - is - sticking up.”

For a long moment, the older boy stared. “Yes,” he agreed softly, almost skeptical. “It has a tendency to do that.”

A nervous step back was taken. “Do, uh…” He cleared his throat. “Do you want anything?”

“... Pardon?”

“From the bakery,” Prompto added belatedly. “Sorry, should have opened with that. We’re almost out of bread. I just want to know if you wanted me to stop by the bakery and pick some up before they close.”

Ignis made a face at this, but kept any comments to himself. His hands went to his pockets, feeling for his wallet, only to pause. “My coin purse is upstairs,” he realized aloud.

“I’ll buy it,” Prompto insisted, hair flying as he shook his head. “Don’t worry; you’ve been giving me money for helping out, so I might as well help with the little things.”

Ignis lips pursed. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“It’s the least I could do,” is the warm reply. “You’re letting me stay here after all.”

The fight physically left Ignis after that. His shoulders relaxed, eyes fluttering shut as he breathed an almost imperceptible sigh. “In that case, a loaf of bread, and maybe something sweet for Noctis.”

“You spoil him,” Prompto teased, ignoring the envy rising in his stomach.

Ignis’ smile, then, was a soft one. It was a new look; something Prompto had never seen in his eight months at the house. “Yes,” he agreed readily, lips barely moving. “I do suppose I spoil all of you in my own way.”

A heart shuddered in a narrow chest at that. Blue eyes bravely slid to green, locking their gazes instead of vaguely staring at his face to get by as they usually did. It was electric. Almost too much to handle. But then Prompto opened his mouth and asked, “Do you spoil me?”

The laugh that filled the room, then, was gentle, amused, and sincere. “Prompto,” Ignis began, wiping away a tear of sheer joy from his eyes with one balled hand. “I spoil you worst of all.”

“Good,” Prompto said. It was all he could bring himself to say before turning on his heel and making for the stairs.

The moment he got outside, clutching his broom that was getting maybe a touch too small for him, he called for Aranea.

She was at his side in seconds, setting on his shoulder with a friendly chirp. “Going somewhere?” she asked.

“Bakery!” was the quick reply as he mounted his broom, rising slowly into the air. “Do you want anything?”

“I’m good. Your boyfriend gave me some cherries this morning.”

“He’s  _ not _ my boyfriend,” he snapped.

“But you want him to be.”

“If wants were coins, we’d all be millionaires.”

She laughed, tail fluttering in amusement. “That’s a new one.”

“I made it up,” Prompto announced, flying over the plant shop before heading down the streets.

…

The bakery smelled of bread and love when Prompto arrived, bell jingling above his head.

“Prompto!” the shop girl greeted him warmly. “Kenny says I’m not allowed to send you away without an extra tart the next time you come in.”

“Is… that now?” he asked, nervous.

“Yup, Free tart. What are you getting?”

“Um…” He paused, thinking. “A loaf of bread and two tarts then, please.”

She smiled, loading up the bag for him before turning to Aranea with a high, “Hello there, beautiful.”

Aranea preened.

…

Prompto didn’t head home immediately. He lingered at the edge of town, watching the moon over the water as Aranea fluttered down around the beach. But eventually he called out to her, insisting they go home. Returning to his side, she huddled into the curve of his neck for the rest of the ride home. “It’s so quiet here,” she said at one point. “I almost don’t want to go back home.”

Prompto didn’t reply.

…

When he arrived home, the first thing he noticed was the spread of food on the table. Potatoes. Roast beef. Carrots and broccoli. “What’s this for?” he asked, glancing from face to face at the kitchen table.

Slowly, Ignis rose to his feet, then pulled out Prompto’s chair. “It’s to celebrate you moving up in your training,” Ignis replied warmly. “You watch the shop, now, and that’s important.”

Stepping into the room, Prompto sets the bread and tarts on the counter before moving toward the table. He hesitated before taking his seat. Before standing in place while Ignis pushed it in for him, sending a flutter up his spine.

Taking his own seat, Ignis shook out his napkin before tucking it under his chin. “I also have a question to ask you.”

Reaching for his own napkin, Prompto froze at the tone. It was nervous. Unsure. Slowly, he turned to look at Ignis, only too aware of the other two at the table, utterly silent, their eyes glued to the scene. “W-What’s the question?” he managed, only stumbling once.

Tanned hands fell to the table, and Ignis took a deep, calming breath before his eyes turned to meet Prompto’s. “I was wondering if you might be inclined to become my apprentice.”

“Your… apprentice?”

“Yes. I… I realize I’m young. I realize I’m inexperienced. I realize your pilgrimage is nearly over, and you may have plans to return home and go to school once your fourteenth birthday rolls around. But for a few months at least I would like to teach you the potions passed through my family and prepare you for a life living as a witch, if you are so inclined.”

Prompto didn’t know how to respond. Apprenticeship? What did that mean again? He would be training under Ignis. Would work closely with Ignis for the last few months of his pilgrimage. “Yes.” The word was out before he decided. Would he be alright? Would…

His thoughts trailed off as a wide, happy grin spread over thin lips.

Noctis began to clap, joined by Gladio before too long.

Prompto flushed. Was this alright? His intentions weren’t exactly… pure.

Suddenly, guilt began to eat at his stomach.

“Now eat up!” Ignis insisted. “I hope everyone enjoys the meal.”

Prompto ate as much as he could, only to throw it up an hour later as his hands shook from nerves and his chest twisted itself around his anxiety.

…

It was the early hours of a Saturday that Prompto stepped up to Ignis’ door, knocking politely and waiting for a response.

“ _ Just a moment! _ ” came the cry from the other side, along with a thump and a groan of pain. Then the door was wrenched open, a shirtless Ignis waving Prompto in the room.

He was quick to comply, keeping his eyes firmly away from his…  _ master’s _ naked torso. “Gladiolus said you needed to see me,” he began, unsure, “So, uh… here I am.” He fought against the urge to cough, turning to eye the small altar in the corner of the room. There, a long stick of incense sat, burning in its stand. A small statue sat behind it, flanked by sage. It looked to be a man with horns curling behind his head and Prompto squinted at it before asking, “Is that Ifrit? You pray to him, right? Is that what you were doing before I came in?”

Slowly, Ignis cleared his throat, preparing to speak, only to jump to the window. He threw it open, banging on the stiff frame when it stuck halfway up. “My apologies. I forgot about the incense.”

Prompto found himself staring at a wiry back, eyes glued to muscles as they shifted beneath skin, then looked away, cheeks burning. Heart beating a marathon in his chest, he allowed a small cough to escape. “Thank you.”

Stepping away from the window, Ignis fixed the boy with an excited grin. “How about I get dressed and we traipse on down to the basement, then?”

…

Gilgamesh was rolling all over the floor when the arrived, all three paws pointed at the ceiling as he purred up a storm.

“Don’t mind him,” Ignis drawled as he threw open the tiny basement window. “I was experimenting with catnip last night. As long as he doesn’t leap on the tables we should be fine.”

Prompto nodded, then turned to face the tables. They had been cleared of their usual supplies, replaced instead by a set of complex glasswork and a single line of ingredients.

Pointing to the first, Ignis moved his hand about it like he was presenting a prize on a TV show. Strange, considering there was no TV in the house. “This, Prompto, is a newt skin.”

“Ew,” Prompto replied.

“It has been dried, and thus is very delicate. For that reason…” He picked up the first of the knives – athanes, Prompto recalled – from a line of them beside the glassware. Then, handle first, he passed it to Prompto. “For that reason, you need to be very careful when you cut it.”

Hesitantly, Prompto took the athane, curling his fingers around the handle with a skeptical glance at the curved tip. “How do I cut it?” he asked just as a warm hand fell to his shoulder.

Ignis stepped in close.

A shiver worked its way up Prompto’s spine at the touch; as the feel of fingers settling softly against his collar bone.

“First,” came a soft whisper, Ignis’ voice low and soothing, “think of something that calms you. Something that makes you happy.”

“Like…”  _ You _ . “...comics?”

A chuckle followed, deeper still. Puberty lent a hand as his voice cracked in a, “Sure. Comics,” that was both high and low, shooting between registers without warning.

Prompto’s heart just about jumped out of his chest. “Done,” he lied. “Now what?”

“Now you take the skin and cut it into four parts. You must be careful not to crush it. You’ve washed your hands recently, correct?”

Prompto nodded quickly.

“Good, good. Then go ahead. Direction doesn’t matter, as long as they’re all relatively the same size. The end result is all that matters in potions, so you’ve got room to improvise and make it your own.”

Prompto nodded, then went to cut the skin, only for a hand to stop him.

Ignis’ smile was flustered, but warm. “I forgot to tell you to thank it,” he explained.

All he could do was nod again, mouth dropping open as the skin of his hand erupted in a blazing heat that sent goosebumps up his arms. “How do I thank it?” he managed to ask after a bit, head turning to face the boy at his side.

And then they were nose to nose.

Prompto could hardly breathe.

“My thanks for your beauty,” Ignis began, lips turned up in a soft smile. He smelled of basement and too many cups of tea. Of sage. Of skin and sweat. “My thanks for your elegance and delicate nature. My thanks for living until this point, where we have both met and will proceed together after this point. My thanks for aiding me in the endeavor.”

Prompto’s chest froze.

Ignis laughed, teeth closing into his bottom lip as a flush found its way high into his cheeks once more. “Of course, any of those will work. I’m simply… very  _ formal _ .”

It was a long time before the younger boy could speak. Before he managed a weak, “Right. Any of those will work,” even as his heart threatened to give out.

...

Prompto blinked and summer had come to an end. What had once heralded the return of school instead brought a new form of dread to his life.

Noctis was going home.

On their last night together, Prompto and Noctis curled up in the attic together, going through his comic book collection like they claimed they would all summer.

“So what are you going to do? Go back to school?” Prompto asked.

Noctis’ shrug was nonchalant.

“You’ll be leaving behind your nursery,” he pointed out. “You love your nursery more than you love anything. Even that girl you’re always on the phone with.”

A flush rose high on pale cheeks. It was a delicate thing; nothing like Prompto’s all-over flush. It was just as quiet and understated as the boy it graced.

“Noctis-”

“I’m going to try and convince my dad to let me come back,” Noctis confessed quietly.

Prompto blinked. “You can do that?”

A scoff, low and skeptical, filled the room. “I’m going to try. Gladio said he’d keep my plants watered in the meantime. At least for a few weeks. Any longer and I might not have a nursery to go back to.”

“Is Gladio bad with plants?”

“Dude’s all about the harvesting, not about the care,” he laughed. It was a bitter thing.

Prompto leaned in until their shoulders brushed as a moment of silence passed between them. “Hey,” he whispered.

“What?” Noctis fired back playfully.

“I’m going to miss you.”

The thin smile that had held for days crumbled all-too-suddenly, and a single tear streaked down Noctis’ face.

Prompto watched him wipe it away. He felt useless.

“I’m gonna miss you too.”

…

“How long do you have to fly?” Prompto asked, handing off the last bag for Noctis to strap to his broom.

Taking it, Noctis set about wrapping the last length of rope around its middle. The first knot was a slip, slid around the front of the broom. “Six hours,” he replied, grimace firm in place.

Prompto grinned. “That’s too bad.”

“Oh? And how far did you fly to get here?” he droned back.

“I didn’t. I took the train.”

“How far away is Niflheim?”

“I was on it for a few days.”

“Whoa. That’s far.”

“That’s why I took the train.”

“Was it nice?”

“And warm. I slept most of the way.”

Noctis groaned. His eyes turned on the store front, and he groaned again when the bell gave a jingle, admitting Ignis and Gladiolus onto the street. “Iggy,” he called. “Iggy, can I take the train?”

Crossing his arms nonchalantly, Ignis replied with a cold, “If you can bother to buy the ticket, who am I to stop you?”

Bottom lip puffing out, Noctis finally mounted his broom, legs spread over the bags strapped to the handle.

“Are you positive that’s not too much weight for your broom to handle?” Ignis asked, stepping closer.

A hand waved him off. “It’ll be fine. Besides, I’ve got some metal braces and duct tape if it does snap. Prompto’s idea.”

Prompto grinned.

From out of the side yard, Umbra padded toward them with a small bark.

“Yeah, of course you’re coming,” Noctis replied dryly. “I can’t leave you behind.”

Prompto stood back, watching in amusement as Umbra hopped over the bags. As Noctis fixed a harness around the familiar. “I’m going to miss you,” he confessed softly.

All eyes turned on him.

Flushing, Noctis nodded politely. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised. “You’ll see.” And with that, he kicked off the ground, rising quickly into the air before heading off into the horizon.

It was a while before Prompto turned away, seeing for the first time Ignis’ hand raised in a long farewell.

It made his throat tighten.

That would be for him in a few months.

Ignis turned to him, then, and with a smile dull around the edges he said, “Time to open shop, Prompto.”

...

It was a bland few hours watching the shop – filled with scribbles and pen flipping and generally amusing himself with no customers in sight – before Prompto heard the tell-tale sound of footsteps. They weren’t from the basement or from the door, though; they were from further inside the house. This was the only warning he got before Gladiolus burst into the shop.

Standing in the doorway leading to the rest of the house, dripping onto the hardwood, Gladiolus was sopping from head to toe. Looking Prompto dead in the eye, he announced, “Get me a towel, would you? The whole second floor is carpeted and I wouldn’t hear the end of it from Ignis.”

“Uh… Sure,” Prompto agreed softly, hopping up from his stool. Making sure the till was locked and the safe secure, he quickly raced up to the door. “What happened?” He quickly locked the store, flipping the open sign to “away.” 

“Hose burst on me,” was the quick answer.

Prompto frowned, turning away to look at the man skeptically. “Aren’t you supposed to be using a watering can?”

A shrug followed. “Takes too long.”

“What… But what if they  _ mold _ ?”

The look Gladiolus fixed him with was somewhere between exasperated and confused. “Do  _ you _ want to do it?”

“I…” Prompto paused, fingers tangling with the hem of his vest. Then, without another word, he stepped around Gladiolus to head toward the stairs. He took them two at a time, ascending to the second floor in seconds. Pulling open the door to the linen closet, he quickly grabbed the fluffiest towel he could find before hopping back down the stairs and shoving it in Gladiolus’ arms.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly.

“No problem,” Prompto replied nervously, racing back around to the shop. He opened quickly, unlocking the store door and flipping the sign back to “Open.” Then he shrunk into his stool, hands nervously playing with the pen again.

It wasn’t ten minutes before the heavy footsteps were back. Before Gladiolus appeared in the doorway with a slightly damp notebook. “Hey,” he called.

Blue eyes turned to the door, taking the boy in.

He was wearing black; witch’s colors. It was a stark change from the usual greens and browns. There was a jacket and a tank top paired with some dark jeans and a small chain at the waist. The shoes were nice; freshly polished and neat. Gladiolus looked older. The scruffy stubble of a sixteen year old appeared somehow thicker; darker. His body seemed bigger, especially around the arms where the jacket clutched his biceps.

Prompto felt a flush sit hot in his cheeks at the sight.

“I’ll watch the shop,” he said, voice deep and firm. “These are the instructions Noctis left.”

He was quick to take the notebook. Quick to flip through it. Quick to hop off his seat and trade places with Gladiolus in the doorway, only to pause. “Are you sure?” he asked, gaze turning to meet dark brown eyes.

A large hand waved him off. “I’ve done this before. Don’t worry about it. If I have any questions, Iggy’s probably in the basement.”

“Yeah,” Prompto agreed, the turned. He headed through the kitchen, pushing through the door into the hall, then out into the yard. He was quick to move to the other store, the back door unlocked and the knob damp. Heading quickly into the building, he glanced around nervously, then breathed a sigh. Aside from the windows all across the front of the store with people passing by on occasion, he was alone.

The watering can sat abandoned on top of the counter, empty. Prompto grabbed this first, filling it with the spigot at the back of the store. His footsteps echoed through the room; shoes heavy against the tile. It was louder than he thought it would be; almost deafening in the relative silence. Setting the filled can on the counter, he turned first to the small cactus-like plants near the register, the labels lovingly carved into a wooden label hanging from the pot.

“Succulent,” he read softly, fingers finding the notebook stuffed in his pocket. Flipping it open, he paged through quickly. It was in alphabetical order, and he flipped further toward the bag until he found it. Finally, after backpaging and turning and flipping through the notebook, he found it. “Succulents,” he read. “Water sparingly once a week.” He glanced from the watering can, then to the succulent. He peered close at the soil, eyes narrowing curiously. Then, careful of the needles, he reached out and poked the soil. “Moist,” he noted happily. “Probably don’t need to be watered.”

…

It was several hours before Prompto finished watering the plants. Placing the watering can back in the closet, he stepped mopped up the mess from the burst hose before dropping it into the trash.

Hands twisted in the hem of his vest, flying back and forth to flap the damp material before giving up and going back toward the back door. He locked it behind him, withdrawing the key only after the satisfying _ click _ of the lock. Turning in place, he flinched as Aranea settled on his shoulder, beak immediately sinking into his hair.

“You're a mess,” she pointed out dryly.

Prompto made a face. “I don't look too bad,” he insisted.

“You've got dirt on your face.”

Pale fingers stole to freckled cheeks, scrubbing over the earth clinging to his skin. His hand came away brown. “How'd that even get there?” he wondered.

“What were you even doing?” she asked.

“Watering the plants.”

“Isn’t that Gladiolus’ job?”

Prompto’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “We switched chores.”

“Did you now.”

“... Yes.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“... Yes.”

The bird tweeted bitterly. “You’re such a pushover.”

Prompto reached for his shirt, then paused, eyes turning to his dirty hands. He breathed a soft sigh. “Guess I better get cleaned up before I go watch the shop.”

“Well, have fun,” Aranea snorted before taking to the air.

“You’re leaving  _ again _ ?” Prompto whined, neck craning back to watch her go.

“The shop is  _ boring _ ,” she insisted sharply. “I’m going to find something interesting.”

He watched her go, eyebrows drawing together before scoffing. “ _ The shop is boring _ ,” he mocked softly, stomping up to the back door. Wrenching it open, he hoofed into the hallway, following it into the kitchen. “ _ I’m going to find something interesting. _ ”

“Is something wrong?”

Prompto paused. Then, face turning up, he flinched as his eyes fell on a familiar black vest. “H- Hey Ignis.”

A steaming mug drew up to thin lips, then retreated back to the table. “Did something happen?”

“Just… It’s nothing.”

Lips pursed at this. Then, breathing a soft sigh, Ignis leaned back into his chair. “Gladiolus said you were watering Noctis’ plants for him. Did you finish?”

“Yeah. Just now. I was just…” He pointed a thumb numbly toward the stairs. “I was just gonna clean up and then take over for him.”

Another sip. Another sigh. “Is there a reason you’re watering the plants instead of Gladio?”

Prompto’s fingers twitched toward the hem of his vest.

Green eyes followed the movement.

“I…” he began, voice soft. He trailed off, gaze cast across the stairs.

Lips twitched in bitter amusement. “Did you use the watering can, at least?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“He’s not in trouble, is he?”

Ignis blinked, head shooting up in sheer surprise. “Pardon?”

“He’s not, like…  _ grounded _ , is he?”

Shock settled in like a bad smell. “Prompto,” he began. “ _ Prompto _ ,” he said again, firmer. “Do you really believe I have the power to ground anyone?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Well… I don’t.”

“Okay.”

“You should go wash up.”

“Right. Yeah. I’ll do that.”

…

When the shop finally closed that day, the sun had begun to set.

Stepping up out of the basement, Ignis let the door fall closed behind him with a firm  _ click _ . “How did we do today?”

“Really well!” Prompto enthused as he locked the front door. “I was surprised, actually. We got a bunch of older girls in here buying concentration potions. Apparently finals are coming up. I didn’t think that was something that would be popular with those kinds of girls, wearing all that makeup.”

A snort.

“What?”

“‘Those kinds of girls’ are far less alien creatures than you give them credit for, makeup or no,” Ignis drawled, settling onto the stool. He rest his arms on the counter, eyes trained on the shelves that lined the walls of the shop. “Though with the sheer lack of colleges in this town, it’s hard to be sure they came for the potions. Speaking of which, how’s our stock?”

Prompto blinked, mind rolling the words over before he turned to the shelves. “Oh. Right. We’re running a little low. We’ve only got six left.”

“Six? Goodness.” Rising quickly from his seat, his hand settled on the door to the basement, grabbing the knob firmly before he paused. Turning back to Prompto, he asked, “Would you mind helping me with a batch once you’re done closing up?”

Eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll be right down!”

…

The window was wide open when Prompto opened the door, descending into the moist basement.

Ignis turned as he descended the stairs, grin lighting his face as the boards creaked under the weight. “That was fast.”

“Yeah. Even numbers today,” Prompto replied quickly, half hopping his way down the steps.

“Good. Can you get me an athame?”

“Sure. Which one?”

“The one for cutting. And wash it first, if you please.”

“On it.”

They settled into a companionable silence, broken only by the occasional request for an ingredient or a direction to prepare a part of the potion.

Until it was broken with something else.

Lips pursed tight for a long time before Ignis spoke, shoulders tense and tone dull. “Have you thought about the night you’re going to go back home?” he asked, sprinkling the crushed basil leaves over the top of the cauldron.

Prompto stiffened.

“It’s September already,” he continued, voice a gentle rumble in his chest until it snapped; puberty taking a hand. “Your birthday will be here before we know it.”

Silence settled all too quickly.

“Have-”

“I heard you,” Prompto snapped.

Ignis’ lips pursed.

Blond hair fell into blue eyes as he shook his head. “Sorry,” he offered weakly. “I just…” He trailed off, clearing his throat firmly. “I’ve had my tickets for a while, actually.”

Dark lashes fluttered in shock. “You have?”

“Yeah,” came the gentle admission, eyes drawing up from the floor. “I’ll be leaving the day before my birthday.”

Slowly, their eyes met.

Slowly, Ignis nodded.

At the top of the stairs, sitting on the store counter, the phone rang.

“I’ll get that,” Prompto insisted, half leaping up the stairs before Ignis could protest. Pushing the door open, he snatched up the phone with a polite, “Titan’s Tonics; this is Prompto speaking. How may I help you?”

_ “Prompto? It’s me – Noctis.” _

“... Hey,” he greeted, voice low and expression twisting. “Hey,” he said again. “It’s good to hear from you.”

_ “I’ve got good news, man; dad’s letting me come back!” _

Prompto’s free hand dropped, taking hold of the hem of his vest. “That’s great,” he enthused even as his voice broke. “When are you coming back?”

_ “Friday, actually.” _

“That’s pretty soon.”

_ “Can you get Iggy on the phone? I need to talk to him.” _

“Yeah. Sure. Just a second.”

…

Friday, like the rest of that year, arrived all too quickly. As soon as the sun went down Prompto followed Ignis up onto the roof, eyes on the horizon.

“I wish Gladio had been able to make it,” was the first thing out of Ignis’ mouth, drawing the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

Prompto shivered. It had been a hot day, but as the daylight faded a bitter chill raced through the air; a chilly reminder of what was to come. “After this year, I’m going back to school.”

“You’d do well in school,” was the offered comment. “But I gather from your tone that’s not what you’re getting at.”

“I promised moms that this would be a one-off thing. I’d come back and attend school like everyone else.”

Green eyes shifted, landing on an expanse of freckles. “Is that what you want?” he asked.

“No.”

A nod, then Ignis’ gaze turned back to the sky. Back to the stars that slowly peeked from the quickly darkening horizon. “Do what you feel is best.”

Prompto smiled. It was a hurt thing. “I’m going to miss you guys. A lot.”

“We’ll miss you, too,” was the all-too-even reply.

“Would…” He cleared his throat, eyes turning to the street far below, then back to Ignis. “Would you mind if I came back? After school, you know? Whenever… Whenever my moms let me.”

It was then that their gazes met.

Ignis’ lips twitched.

Prompto swallowed the lump in his throat.

“We’ll still be here.”

Prompto reached for the hem of his vest, then paused. He forced his hands back to the roof; to the rough tiles beneath him, trying to ignore the eyes that took it all in. “Will you?”

Another twitch. “Of course,” is the smooth reply. “Even if Noctis and Gladiolus move on with their lives, I’m afraid I’m stuck here.”

Expression twisting, Prompto’s lashes fluttered dramatically as his head shook lightly. “You don’t really feel that way, do you?”

Finally, the line between their eyes broke.

Ignis turned away, gaze fixing on the horizon. “Sometimes,” he admitted under his breath.

In the distance, a speck appeared.

Prompto shot to his feet. “Noctis!” he shouted, waving both his arms. “Hey!”

The speck waved back.

…

After unloading Noctis’ things, the three of them gravitated toward the kitchen, Ignis plying them with snacks as they sat at the rectangular table.

“How did you convince your father to let you come back?” Ignis asked, settling a small plate of fruit before them. “I was under the impression that you would take over the coven at eighteen. Weren’t you supposed to learn the ropes during this time?”

Prompto blinked. “Wait, what?”

Dark blue eyes rolled at this, falling on blond hair with a dry, “Oh, by the way, I’m the heir to a large family-led witch community with interconnecting covens.”

Pert lips fell open, gaping.

“Close your mouth, man. It’s not that cool.”

Prompto’s mouth snapped shut.

“Well?” Ignis prompted again, settling into his usual chair.

Leaning back in his chair, Noctis waved his hand dismissively. “I just told him my shop needed me and that I was happier here.”

“That’s all that was needed to convince him?” Ignis asked, skeptical. “And he allowed you to leave?”

“Honestly, I think he’s just glad I’m happy.”

Prompto watched, then, as Ignis stood. As he leaned across the counter and a large hand was planted on a narrow shoulder. As twin smiles lit on his companions’ faces and something  _ warm _ rose in the air.

“How about we do something special for your birthday?” came the even suggestion as Ignis stepped over to the pantry, pulling out a large sack of potatoes. “Some french fries should do it.”

Noctis laughed, leaning forward to drape his arms over the table as he watched Ignis pull out the first few potatoes. “You’re the best, Iggy.”

“I do try.”

Prompto watched as Ignis prepared the potatoes. As he washed them, sliced them evenly with the skins on, and began to cut them into halves before he reached for the oil and a mesh basket.

Then, a hand lightly brushed his arm.

Glancing up, blue eyes met with darker blue.

“So,” Noctis began, voice soft but firm, “what are you going to do? It’s nearly October. Your pilgrimage is ending.”

Prompto shrugged, crossing his arms on the table and leaning forward. His eyes gravitated back to Ignis as he answered, watching him as he pouring a generous helping of oil into a pot. “Momma made me promise to go back to school.”

“School? School’s boring.”

“For you, I imagine it was,” Ignis added in dryly. “Prompto, however, is the type of boy who would do rather well in school.”

Noctis groaned. “Don’t  _ encourage _ him. What if he stays? What if he doesn’t come back? What if we never see him again?”

Dropping the first batch of sliced potatoes in the basket, then sliding it into the pot, Ignis turned toward them and pulled a face. “I will not stand for him compromising his future because you want someone to read comics with.”

“But what are your plans?” Noctis asked, suddenly excited. He spilled out over the table, head clunking to the wood and arms splayed.

“Well, I…” Prompto paused, glancing from Ignis, then to Noctis. “I want to come back.”

A grin split Noctis’ face.

“There’s still a lot I wanted to learn about potions,” he continued, voice stronger, “and I want to read more comics with you, and…” His eyes drew to the table, a flush high in his cheeks. “I want to get to know Gladio better.”

Green eyes lingered on rosey cheeks, then turned away to focus on the oil on the stove. Lips pursed tight.

Noctis’ eyebrows arched. “It’s international, right? You should send us letters, like you do with your mom.”

“Yeah,” Prompto replied quickly. “Yeah, of course.”

Ignis turned back after giving the basket a quick shake, gaze meeting Prompto’s as they glanced each others’ way.

Prompto’s stomach twisted.

Stepping over to lean against the fridge, the older boy grinned. It was a delicate thing; something that threatened to fall away at the smallest prompting. “We’re certainly going to miss your help around here.”

Prompto perked up at this, lips twitching into his own careful grin. “You really mean that?”

“Of course. Who else will water Noctis’ plants while he’s gone?”

Noctis shot up from the table, eyes narrowed into slits. “Uh…  _ Gladio _ .”

“Yes, but Prompto here actually uses the watering can.”

“And Gladio doesn’t?” he growled.

Prompto shrunk. “Um…”

“Oh my  _ Gods _ ,” Noctis snapped, jumping to his feet, sending the chair squealing back. “ _ This _ is why I had that mold outbreak last time! I just thought my plants missed me, but it was  _ him _ .” He remained standing for a bit longer before collapsing back into his chair. “Guess… Guess it’s a good thing you’re here, Prompto.”

“Th- Thanks,” Prompto replied softly, vibrating softly as his nerves rose to a fever pitch.

Green eyes watched the exchange, but turned back to the oil that bubbled around the potatoes quickly changing into fries.

…

It was a stormy Wednesday in late September when Ignis beckoned Prompto down into the basement as the grandfather clock in the kitchen struck four. With the doors locked and the safe counted, Ignis beckoned him down the stairs. The window was already wide open, inviting the weather in with them. Much to Prompto’s shock, a small puddle had begun to form against the wall. How long had it been open?

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked, eyes turning from the window to the boy further down the stairs.

Ignis shifted to face Prompto, feet growing still against the stairs. His hair shifted in the breeze, blowing into his eyes before sticking straight back up again. “A bit,” he admitted. “But I knew I wanted to show you this potion, so it made sense to open it for you in advance.”

_ You’re so considerate _ , Prompto wanted to say.  _ You’re so wonderful _ .

Ignis grinned. “If it’s too cold, I can always close it. You might be fine, since the room’s been airing out long enough.”

“It’s not,” is the quick reply. Hands buried in the hem of his vest, twisting with the fabric. “I’m fine.”

Thin lips twitched up into a soft smile. “Then why don’t you come down? I’ve got something I want to show you.”

Prompto felt himself nod. Felt his hands untangle from his shirt. But even as he took the first step, hand on the railing, he willed himself to stop.

“Is everything alright?” Ignis’ voice was gentle. It was always gentle.

Always sweet.

Always lovely.

Fingers going white against the banister as their drew tight against the wood, Prompto’s eyes turned down to the stairs. “I…” He cleared his throat. “I have a question.”

A pause. Then a soft, “Go right ahead.”

“Well, I…” He swallowed, mouth suddenly a dry mess. Sucking his tongue, he cleared his throat again. “I know I keep asking this, but like… Will you miss me? Personally?”

A beat of silence passed.

Slowly, Prompto turned his face up, gaze shifting from the aging stairs to the boy at the base of them.

Hand poised on the railing, eyes crinkled in amusement, Ignis’ smile was almost…

… bitter.

“Of course I’m going to miss you,” was the reply. It was flat. Almost disinterested. But as their eyes met, he looked away. Embarrassed. Ashamed?

Prompto couldn’t be sure.

“You’re a brilliant boy,” he continued. His voice was breathy.  _ Husky _ . “I enjoy spending time with you. I enjoy having someone to talk to about…” His hands motioned about the room. “... all this. You’ve become a closer companion than I could have hoped for.”

Prompto tried to ignore the flutter in his chest. The butterflies that suddenly burst through his stomach and threatened to spill into the room. And as green eyes turned on him, they did. “You guys are the first friends I’ve ever had,” he admitted.

“Surely you must have-”

“No,” Prompto interrupted quickly, throat growing thick with nerves. “Never.” He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. It bubbled up in him; an urge he swallowed back like bile.

Ignis’ smile to follow was delicate. “Good?”

“ _ Good _ ?” Prompto parrotted, shocked.

“Not…” A groan followed. Hands drew up to cover a face that flushed with embarrassment. “That wasn’t what I… I meant… I thought…”

“You thought?”

“I’m horrible.”

“Horrible?”

“I thought… I was under the impression that you might forget us once you got back home. I’m sorry.”

Prompto stared.

“My apologies,” Ignis added, face still buried in his hands. “Please forget I said anything.”

“Nope,” Prompto replied, popping his lips.

Slowly, Ignis peered up from between his fingers.

“I’m going to remember this forever,” he announced firmly. “The day Ignis was just as awkward as me.”

“I’m always awkward.”

“Liar.”

“I  _ am _ ,” he insisted, the flush high on his cheeks suddenly bared as his hands fell away from his face.

“But…” Blue eyes narrowed, skeptical. “But you’re always so confident.”

“Well… That is to say…” A throat was cleared. “Can we move on? I’d like to get to this.”

_ No _ , Prompto wanted to say.  _ No, I want to talk about this _ . Instead, he shrugged. “Okay.”

Ignis moved away from the stairs like a bullet, racing over to one of the cupboards and withdrawing a small bottle. “Do you recall the potion you made three months ago?” he asked.

“Um… Yeah,” Prompto replied, moving down the stairs.

“It’s called Empathy,” Ignis informed him softly. “Depending on how it’s made, batches can require anything from a week, a few months, or several years to settle depending on the complexity of the emotion. Your batch happened to require three months.”

“Is that good?”

“It’s rather short compared to other batches I’ve made, admittedly,” was the cool response as he moved aside a collection of empty bottles. “Would you mind closing the window? I’m getting a touch cold.”

“Sure,” Prompto agreed quickly, racing over to the wall. Reaching up, he pulled the latch until it gave, then pulled the window shut with a grunt. By the time he turned around, Ignis had the potion in hand.

It was a sale-ready bottle… with a dropper.

“Would you like to try it?” Ignis suggested, stepping closer.

Prompto blinked. “Uh… depends. What is it?”

“It’s a retainer,” was the quick reply. “Empathy is a potion that emulates the emotions you felt while you make it.”

“... Oh.”

Screwing the dropper on, Ignis looked down at the bottle, lips twisting nervously. “Just so you’re aware, I don’t feel comfortable trying this without your say-so.”

Prompto is quiet, then slowly nods. “How do I take it?”

Lips twitched into a grin. “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”

With a shrug, Prompto did so.

“Alright. I’m going to put a drop of this on your tongue. You need to let it sit for five seconds, then swallow,” Ignis instructed, uncapping the bottle and pulling out the dropper. Lifting it carefully, he held it over Prompto’s tongue, hovering until a single drop fell from the glass.

Prompto counted to five in his head before closing his mouth. Before giving his tongue a suck and swallowing.

And…

… warmth.

His chest.

His face.

His… hand?

It almost  _ burned _ .

“How do you feel?”

“Better,” was the quiet reply.

Lifting the dropper, Ignis motioned toward himself with it. “Do you mind?”

Prompto shrugged. “Go ahead, I guess.” He watched as Ignis stuck out his tongue. As a single drop fell. As he waited, then closed his mouth.

Eyelashes fluttered.

Nostrils flared.

Slowly, Ignis capped the bottle, eyes dropping open wide to stare at it skeptically.

“Is… something wrong?”

“May I buy this from you?”

“Um… Sure?” Prompto replied, confused.

Taking a long, deep breath, Ignis admitted a low, “I’ll have to pay in installments.”

“Why?”

Tanned face turning up, Ignis’ eyes landed firmly on blue. “You’ve made something very valuable, Prompto. Very… Very precious.”

“... Oh.”

Hand falling to Prompto’s shoulder, the older boy locked their eyes with a soft grin. “You did well.”

“I… Thanks. Thank you.”

“No; thank  _ you _ .”

…

All too quickly the final night arrived. Like a leaf falling from a tree, October passed with unexpected swiftness until Prompto was setting the plates for his farewell meal, Ignis at his back whispering a prayer over the food.

“Thank you, Siren, for providing the means for this dish and nourishing our bodies with your careful attention.” His voice was low and firm; the prayer practiced and even.

Prompto loved it. His voice. The prayer. The gentle undercurrent of power in the words. He paused for a moment – eyes closed, letting the words wash over him one after the other – before turning his attention back to the table. The silverware came after the plates, then the napkins.

“I have a question, if you would hear it.”

Prompto jumped, spinning to face Ignis.

Dark eyebrows arched. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You’re fine,” he replied quickly, shaking his head. “What’s your question?”

It was a moment before Ignis replied, leaning casually against the counter. “I was wondering what you’ve thought of our apprenticeship. I haven’t…” He paused, clearing his throat. “I haven’t had the time to teach you much in the way of the basics, of course, and you’re obviously missing out on a whole curriculum of information critical to the art-”

“You’re a good teacher,” Prompto interrupted

Ignis’ lips pursed, then fell open in a tight, “Am I, though?”

“Well…” He snorted. “You’re not a  _ bad _ teacher.”

“Prompto, the moment we got that phone call when you first arrived – when it was suggested that I find you suitable employment – I knew you would end up working the shop. Yet I didn’t find the time. Between Gladiolus working overtime with construction and Noctis running his shop, I wasn’t confident that I could train you to watch the front until I worked up the courage to do so. And look at you now; you’ve done beautifully,” he insisted with a scoff. “The customers love you, you’re good with keeping track of numbers, the till is always on, and you open and close on time every day. I know I was short on faith in the beginning, but you’ve proven yourself time and time again. Time that could have been spent guiding you in more difficult lessons and teaching you more magic to get you through after… Well, after tonight.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Prompto argued quickly. “Besides, I get it. My moms are usually busy, too, you know?”

Ignis’ gaze turned up, landing on sheepish blue eyes as his lashes fluttered in disbelief. “Are they?”

Prompto fixed him with a smile, hands drawing up to the hem of his vest, only to pause and draw away. Instead they clenched at his side, thumb dragging against the fronts of his fingers. Taking a seat in Ignis’ usual chair, he shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah. Sania momma is constantly on location or in the office running tests. She prefers the field, though, so this means I can go days without seeing her. And Cindy momma isn’t much better. She doesn’t leave the garage until it’s closed. She’s one of the best mechanics in Niflheim, actually. She can make anything run again.”

The smile to follow was fond; appreciative. “They sound very accomplished. You must be very proud of them.”

“Proud of who?”

Prompto froze.

Striding into the room, Noctis’ eyes turned from Ignis, then to Prompto. Leaning against the doorframe to the hallway, he scoffed lightly. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Clearing his throat once more, Ignis turned back to the stove. “We’ve got about an hour before you have to leave, Prompto,” he segued lightly, grabbing up the pot from the stove and moving it to a metal stand in the center of the table. “Are you all packed?”

“Yup. Everything’s ready to go,” Prompto managed even as his throat began to close and his eyes squinted against sudden budding tears that threatened to fall. He jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder.

“You okay, man?” Noctis asked, fingers tight against the fabric of a dark vest.

“I’m fine,” is the squeaked answer just as a single tear streaked down his face.

Two pairs of eyes followed the trail.

Prompto turned sharply, stepping around Noctis to sprint up the stairs and up into the attic, closing the door just a touch too firmly in his wake before collapsing on his bed. He buried his face in his pillow, breathless and desperate as he broke like a dam and tears flooded the fabric.

Aranea fluttered over from her perch, settling on the headboard with a soft chirp. “Meltdown?” she asked.

He nodded through the tears, pillow moving against his face.

Hopping off the headboard, she flew into his hair. Then, pecking at his hair, she cooed a soft, “You’re gonna be okay.”

“I know,” he answered. “It’ll pass.”

…

It was half an hour before there came a knock at the door.

Lifting his face out of his damp pillow, Prompto’s mouth opened, only for nothing to come out.

Another knock came.

He cleared his throat. “Come in,” he called hoarsely.

There was the squeal of rusty door hinges. The steady beat of slow footsteps. Slowly, surely, Ignis came into view. Stepping into the landing, green eyes met with puffy blue.

Prompto looked away, stomach burning. Burying his face in the damp pillow, he set about breathing. At his side, the bed dipped.

A clack of glass on wood sounds through the room.

“I brought you a bowl. Didn't think you'd want to start your journey on an empty stomach.”

It was a while before Prompto moved. Before he sat up and grabbed up the bowl sitting on his nightstand. “Thanks,” he said before taking the first bite. It was a thick stew, rich with shredded beef and vegetables cut thin. “Bet Noctis loved this.”

“He threw the smallest of fits, but inevitably ate them. You missed it. I think I'm wearing him down.”

Prompto snorted, taking another bite of stew.

Ignis’ tongue passed nervously over his lips. Then, hand shifting across the covers, his fingers found the curve of a thigh.

Pale hands froze.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk…” His voice cracked. “Talk about what?”

“Leaving.”

“... Not really.”

“Do you want a hug?”

Prompto's eyes shifted from the hand on his thigh to the boy at his side. It was a while before he responded in any way. Settling the bowl and spoon on the nightstand, he turned to Ignis and slid his arms around a broadening torso. A grunt hit the air as he squeezed.

Slowly, larger arms took hold of him.

Held him.

Prompto took deep, even breaths; took in the smell of a musty basement and a hint of something sweet. “You smell like chocolate.”

“I baked a cake for your departure,” Ignis informed him warmly. “It's waiting for you downstairs.”

A smile lit on pink lips. “You did?

“Chocolate with chocolate chips,” Ignis replied warmly, grin sheepish. “I'll admit I had some of the batter.”

Drawing away, Prompto took a moment to mourn the loss of heat. To mourn the loss of Ignis in his arms even as their eyes drew together and locked. He would be nervous if he weren't lost in the deep green. In the gentle smile on thin lips, touched by a sour twist at the edges.

“I'm going to miss you,” Ignis said, voice a broken mess that stuttered through the air before leaving the room quieter than ever.

Leaning back in, Prompto wrapped his arms around his master; his friend; his crush and held him tight. “I'm going to miss you more,” he insisted, voice almost sharp. “I'm going to miss you way more.”

He smelled of basement must and chocolate cake, and Prompto wanted that moment to last forever.

...

The station was nearly empty when Prompto arrived, with only a few people in suits wandering around.

On his shoulder, Aranea preened her feathers before turning to him, head tilted. “Think they'll have you put me in a cage again?”

“I hope not,” Prompto replied, stepping up to the ticket counter. Clearing his throat, he asked, “I have a reserved ticket under ‘Aurum.’ A-U-R-U-M.”

The woman smiled, then flipped through her cards. Eventually she found a slip, which she hole punched before handing it over to him. “Niflheim, huh? Going on a trip?” she asked, all smiles.

Prompto took the ticket then smiled weakly. “No,” he told her softly. “I'm going home.”


	5. Lunafreya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the length and the intro, you can all thank Marley for making me realize I couldn't skip it.
> 
> Editing by the lovely [Coffee](https://saturnvalleycoffee.tumblr.com/) as per usual. Arnaud helped, too. Most of this chapter was written on vacation at his place, anyways. But I'm back in the states, now, sleeping the days away. Anyways, enjoy the chapter everyone!
> 
> I'd also like to throw a big "thank you" to everyone who's reviewed. Seriously; you guys are why I post.

Home wasn’t the same.

Over the next year, Prompto got very used to understanding his mothers through his bedroom door.

_ “Honey, do you want to go to school today?” _

_ “The principal called. They’re going to be mailing us your coursework.” _

_ “We love you.” _

_ “Your therapist insists on another meeting. Soon.” _

_ “Aranea misses you.” _

_ “Please open the door, sweetie.” _

They would slip his homework under the door. Leave his food outside for him to take when he needed. They never saw his room. Not while he was in it, that is. Sometimes he would come out from showers to find the laundry had been taken out, and clean clothes placed in his drawers.

_ “I likely don’t see cases this bad,”  _ his therapist admitted to him through the door one day.  _ “You’re certainly a remarkable young boy. I’d hate to see this jeopardize your future.” _

He didn’t reply, curling up against the door and breathing deep.

“Remarkable.” It was a word used often by his teachers. By his mothers. By his therapist.

He didn’t want to be remarkable.

He wanted to disappear.

…

_ “Honey? You’ve got another letter.” _ It was Sania, sounding far too resigned and a touch overwhelmed.  _ “I’m going to slip it under your door, okay?” _

Prompto glanced, face drawing out of the curve of his arm. He blinked blearily across the room. Stared at the small envelope that had been slipped between the gap between the door and the hardwood. “Thanks,” he called, throwing his feet over the edge of the bed and making his way over. He fumbled to pick it up, fingers struggling to pick up the slim package. But as he turned it over, he found himself smiling. There on the front sat rough chicken-scratch; a bare imitation of handwriting.

_ Noctis Lucis Caelum _

He tore the envelope open, eyes dragging over the script. Over the well wishes and the plant jokes. Over a sincere “I hope this finds you in good health,” followed by his signature.

And a postscript.

_ P.S. Is there a reason you aren’t answering Ignis’ letters? _

His heart just about stopped.

He stared down at the letter, fingers clutching the edges tight, sending ripples across the page.

_ P.S. Is there a reason you aren’t answering Ignis’ letters? _

A reason indeed.

He balled the letter up quickly, tossing it into the waste bin beside his desk before retreating quickly to his bed. He climbed beneath the blankets, curling into a ball atop the pillow and breathing heavy.

It was a long time before he got out of bed. A long time before he crossed the room and retrieved the abused letter. Before he smoothed it out on his desk and grabbed up a pen, a piece of paper, and an envelope.

_ Dear Noctis, _ he began.

_ I’m sorry. _

…

For a long time, dark fingers played with the winding coil of the phone’s cord. Wrapped it around a hand the color of earth. Twined through the curls one after the other before falling to the dialer. She glanced at the sheet of paper at her side for a long moment before beginning to dial. Before sliding through the rotary and pressing the earpiece into place with her shoulder.

It rang twice before the line clicked to life.

_ “Titan’s Tonics. Ignis Scientia speaking. How may I assist you?” _

“Hello, Mr. Scientia,” she began softly. “This is Sania Yeagre. I don’t suppose you remember me? We haven’t spoken in some time.”

_ “Of course,” _ came the quick reply.  _ “To what do I owe the pleasure?” _

“To be completely honest, I’m at my wit’s end.”

The confession earned silence at first. A tense thing that stretched through the phone. It was a while before he spoke. Before Ignis offered a low,  _ “What might I be able to help you with?” _

“I don’t think Prompto feels safe in Niflheim,” Sania admitted. “He hasn’t left his room in months. Hasn’t gone to school since before that. Cindy and I don’t know what to do anymore. The main problem seems to be that we aren’t in a position to do anything about why he’s retreated.”

_ “... When you say he hasn’t left his room, do you mean literally?” _

“Yes. We’ve resorted to sliding mail under the door. That’s really the only way to get him to interact.”

_ “He hasn’t responded to mine.” _

“Um… No.”

_ “Do you think… he doesn’t trust me with this?” _

“I think he’s ashamed, actually,” she corrected softly. “I figure that  _ he _ figured you’d see right through him if he wrote you. From what his therapist has told me, he’s got a facade up when he writes Noctis.”

_ “A facade?” _

“Yes. And he talks about you a lot. I know he doesn’t want to disappoint you.”

Then the silence was back. Long. Tense. And then Ignis spoke.  _ “I’m not sure you should be telling me this.” _

“Mr. Scientia, would you mind if we sent Prompto back to you?”

_ “... Oh.” _

“I’m sorry to put this on you so suddenly. We’d send you funds for rent, of course.”

_ “No need. He’s welcome in my home. There’s no need to pay me.” _

Sania sighed. “Mr. Scientia-”

_ “Just Ignis. Please.” _

“ _ Ignis _ ,” she repeated firmly. “To be frank, from what I’ve heard the better off you are, the better off my son will be. I will be sending you rent and that’s the end of it.”

_ “Dr. Yeagre-” _

“Sania,” she fired back warmly.

A pause. A sigh.  _ “Prompto is a pleasure, but I’m worried about his schooling. If he were to attend school here he would need a guardian to sign off on certain papers, and I’m not sure Gladiolus is up to the challenge and time such a position would demand from him.” _

Slowly, Sania blinked. “Gladiolus? I assumed you would be taking care of him. I assumed you  _ were _ taking care of him.”

_ “Ma’am, I won’t be eighteen for another four months.” _

Another blink, followed by a dull, “You’re seventeen.”

_ “Yes, ma’am.” _

“And Gladiolus is your… guardian?”

_ “No; Gladio recently turned eighteen in April.” _

She staggered back against the wall, eyes wide. “There are no adults in your home.”

_ “That is correct.” _

“You were fifteen when you took him in. How…” She paused, eyes turning to the floor as her brows furrowed skeptically. “You did such a good job with him,” she observed softly as something like guilt began to eat at her stomach.

_ “Is it possible to work something out with his current school, as far as coursework goes?” _ Ignis segued smoothly.

A moment passed before Sania replied. “We can ship you his work with the rent, and you can mail it back when it’s finished. I can apply for homeschooling. The district already knows about his situation.”

_ “Excellent,” _ Ignis said happily.  _ “I just…” _

Sania waited as he paused, twining the cord around her finger nervously.

_ “I worry that he might not get better here. We can’t be entirely sure that location is the key factor in his withdrawal. You seem to be unsure about that factor. I realize witches are illegal in your country, but this is a psychological issue and those are rarely easily mended.” _

Sania smiled. “Being a witch is the only thing Prompto has ever wanted. Aside from comic books. If his relapse is from not feeling safe here, then that should be fixed by moving. If it’s from wanting to openly be a witch again, this should do it, too.”

Another sigh.  _ “How are we to be sure he’ll leave his room to travel?” _

“We can’t,” she replied, voice high. “We can only hope.”

…

It was later that night over the kitchen table that Sania looked the love of her life dead in the eye and announced, “Ignis is seventeen.”

Cindy visibly reeled. Her lashes fluttered as her eyes fell open wide and her jaw went slack. “What in tarnation?” she breathed. “I figured he was at  _ least _ twenty when he took Prompto in.”

“I’m surprised, too,” Sania admitted, moving the corn around her plate with a lazy swipe of her spoon. “He’s a very accomplished young man for his age.”

“We can’t saddle him with Prompto,” Cindy announced firmly. “It isn’t right. He’s just a boy.”

“I don’t think we have much of a choice,” came the soft admission. “This might be the only way to get Prompto out of his room.”

…

For a long moment, Prompto didn’t know why he had woken. Why he was blinking himself awake late in the evening not long after he had gone to sleep. But then he heart it; the insistent knocking at his door.

_ “Honey?” _ It was Cindy.  _ “Honey, are you awake?” _

“Yeah,” he replied groggily. His hands fell to his stomach; as if they physically reeled back the wave of nausea that followed the word. It centered low in his stomach, echoing up into his chest.

_ “We have something to talk about. Came you come to the door?” _

It took him longer than he would like to admit to slide out of bed. To settle his feet against the hardwood floor and make his way across the room. He bent down by the frame, wrapping thick arms around thicker legs as he settled into place.

_ “I need you to listen closely _ .” It was Sania, then, voice calm and even.  _ “Prompto, I need to know this before I tell you something. Do you feel safe at school?” _

His mouth dropped open in a low, “No.”

There came a soft, relieved sigh.  _ “Prompto, if I told you Ignis said it was okay to move back in with him, would you leave your room?” _

Shock. Confusion. Prompto tried to speak, but his voice stuck deep in his throat. He cleared it, attempting against, only for it to come out in a whisper.

_ “Honey?” _

The lump in his throat grew as he staggered to his feet, fingers rising to fumble with the lock to throw the door open.

A shocked silence followed as his mothers’ eyes fell on him for the first time in months.

He opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

All the same, they smiled, stepping forward cautiously before taking their son in their arms.

…

Packing took a while.

“We can help you this time,” Sania told him firmly as she carefully folded some shirts. “We’ve arranged a rent system with Ignis. I hope you’re okay with that.”

Prompto nodded along, sorting through the large pile of fresh laundry to fold a pair of underwear.

Then Cindy let out a gasp.

Eyes all turned on her.

“How about we get you a whole new wardrobe?” she suggested brightly. “You were wearing all black when you came back. Why don’t we get you a wardrobe to match?”

The smile in reply was slow. Hesitant. But then he nodded and she cheered.

…

Loaded up with his new clothes and luggage, Prompto was a sea of black when his mothers dropped him off at the train station. When they peppered him with kisses and engulfed him in warm hugs.

“Remember to write. Long distance is expensive for Ignis. We’ll be sending you care packages, and remember to do your homework, okay? They’ll be shipped to you, too.”

“Thanks,” he said, not for the first time.

Sania immediately began to fuss, insisting he practice his speech every day until he got used to it again. “And I love you,” she added as the bell rang in the distance.

_ “Now boarding the express to Insomnia.” _

“That’s you,” Cindy insisted warmly, pushing a wad of cash into his hands. “Remember to buy food on the train. Look at the menu in advance and you can just point to what you want, okay? You don’t have to talk if you don’t feel you can.”

He nodded again, stuffing the wad into his jean pocket before snatching up his bags and racing off to join the line. He felt self-conscious. Were people staring? Was he dressed too strangely? Was the leopard-print jeans and the denim vest too much? He’d just wanted to be  _ cool _ when he picked them.

He just wanted to be cool.

But it was too late.

Handing over his ticket, he followed the others back onto the board platform.  _ No one cares, _ he attempted to remind himself.  _ No one cares and you’ll never see them again. _

That was his mantra for the next two days.

…

It was a good forty-eight hours of travel – forty-eight hours of rereading comics and pretending he wasn’t going stir crazy as person after person passed by his room. He’d lucked out and gotten an empty one. Slept during the day, when three of his neighbors weren’t snoring. The train was kept warm, and made only a few stops.

It was two days before the announcement came that they had arrived in Galahd. And so Prompto gathered his things and stepped off the train. Then he waited for the next one; the one that would take him away from the bigger towns and toward the sea.

To Ignis.

To Noctis and Gladiolus, as well, of course. But mostly…

Mostly to Ignis.

…

After leaving the station, Prompto moved through the town like an old friend. He recalled the route as vividly as if he’d left it not a week before. And yet, as he passed rows and rows of carved pumpkins and decorations for Halloween strung about, passing by familiar faces crowned by hats and familiar voices clad in strange costumes, he felt something like unease building in his stomach.

Or maybe it was just nausea from the train food.

Eventually he turned a corner, and the familiar road with the railing on one side and stores on the other came into view. In the distance, there it stood. Two stories and an attic; taller than a majority of the surrounding houses. Wide windows displayed the storefront. Despite his nausea – despite the anxiety that built in his stomach like blocks – he found his feet carried him swiftly down the road. The wheels of his suitcase whirred behind him. It caught at every bump and crack in the pavement, jumping in his hand. His grip grew tight against the handle as he approached, nearly up to the wide store windows before his bag jerked out of his hand.

Prompto was quick to right it. Quick to bend forward and take hold of the suitcase. But as he set it up, small hands joined his.

He paused, gaze sliding up a lithe arm, then the sleeves of a white dress, to stare at a young woman.

She was very… average. An average, forgettable face. Average weight. Her blue eyes were lighter than his, framed by small crow’s feet. Her blonde hair had been pulled into a braid – a braid streaked with gray from root to tip. Her expression was calm; a gentle smile that nearly caught him off guard. And after his suitcase was righted, she rose.

She was taller than him, though only by a bare inch. Maybe less. It was difficult to tell with the strappy heels that clung to her feet. Her posture was that of a ramrod; poised and shockingly elegant. Commanding.

Prompto wasn’t sure if he had ever seen a more terrible beauty.

Her blue eyes fixed on his, paired with the most disarming grin. “Hello, Prompto,” she greeted. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

Mouth firmly shut, he fought a nausea as the questions and confusion tangled within him.

As if sensing this – and perhaps she did – the woman extended a hand. “My apologies. You’re having trouble speaking, if I remember correctly. My name is Lunafreya Nox Fleuret. We have mutual acquaintances at the shop Titan’s Tonics.”

A long second passed as he stared at the hand before taking it. “Okay,” he said, nodding amicably.

Their hands parted after a quick shake, falling back to their sides quickly.

“All of our boys are busy. Would you mind accompanying me to the beach until the stores close? Perhaps bring your camera. The sunset is likely to be quite the spectacle tonight.”

Prompto stared, mouth opening once, then twice, before closing firmly.

She nodded once, as if confirming something. “Why don’t we open the side door and place your things in the kitchen? We’re unlikely to both anyone that way.” And with that she snatched up his free hand, dragging him along beside her.

On their way, they passed before the store front. Prompto’s eyes were immediately drawn through the glass, to the man behind the counter.

Ignis looked much the way he did when Prompto left, aside from an added few inches and some acne dusting his cheeks. His vest was open, and his old cloak sat on his shoulders. It appeared to have been patched, showing a lighter gray square where it sat against a slightly larger bicep. His hat was in place, as always, pulled low over his eyes.

He didn’t so much as glance their way as they passed before the windows.

The spare key for the side door had apparently been moved, though Lunafreya had no problem with this. She bent at the knee, scooping up a small, very ugly gnome. She reached into the hollow of its base, retrieving the key with a hum of satisfaction. The gnome was put back. The key was positioned. The door was opened.

Fluttering down from the gutters, Aranea perched on Prompto’s shoulder. She peered at the blonde woman, skeptical.

When Lunafreya turned, her eyes lit on the canary for a brief moment before turning back to Prompto. “Let’s get your bags inside, then.”

It didn’t take more than a few seconds to arrange his things. Before Prompto knew it, Lunafreya was hustling him back out the door. The door was locked. The key, replaced. As soon as the gnome was back on the ground, she fixed her eyes back on Prompto’s. “Let’s go for that walk, shall we?” she suggested softly before taking off down the street.

With a touch of hesitation, Prompto followed.

At his shoulder, Aranea chirped. “Want me to stick around? ‘Cause I’m hungry.”

Blond hair fell into blue eyes as he shook his head, motioning with one hand for her to go on.

“Don’t get ax-murdered,” he insisted in lieu of a farewell as she took to the air.

Prompto watched her go, then turned back to the woman swiftly getting away from him. He jogged to catch up.

“Hello, again,” she greeted when they grew even. “Did you bring your camera?”

He nodded quickly, reaching into one of his larger pockets to produce the device the size of a brick.

Lunafreya nodded happily. “Good. You’re going to love the sunset.”

They were quiet for a while. Until the street gave way to sand. Until they were facing the ocean, staring down the clouds as they gathered on the horizon.

“You’re going to want this shot.” Her voice was quiet. A whisper hardly heard over the hiss of the water. “It’ll find its way into your home in Altissia.”

Prompto opened his mouth, only for a squeak to break the air.

“My apologies. You must have a lot of questions, but are unable to ask.”

Pale hands clenched beside dark pants.

Turning from the ocean, Lunafreya fixed him with a gentle smile. “I’m a seer. I can look into the future. I’m a witch, like you.”

“I figured,” Prompto murmured, voice hoarse.

Her smile was appreciative, then her lips split in a warm laugh. “Ignis wrote me that you were clever,” she informed him softly.

A flush took hold of Prompto’s cheeks, slipping down his neck and up to his ears.

Turning back to the ocean, her lips parted again in a smile. “There it is.”

Shifting back to look at the ocean, Prompto blinked. The sun had begun to set, sending pinks and oranges across the water. Before him, the sky was an almost perfect divide of where the bright colors faded into a quickly darkening blue. On instinct, he lifted his camera, wound it, and took the shot. Then he lowered it to his stomach, staring off across the water in awe.

“I’m here to warn you,” Lunafreya said at last, drawing blue eyes back to her just as a breeze kicked up, sending the end of her braid fluttering in the wind. She was breathtaking in that moment. Ethereal. “You’ll need to take more risks if you want to be happy. Leaving your room was just the first step of many. Don’t let the fear of making mistakes destroy you. Noctis, then Gladiolus, and finally Ignis will require you to remain calm and encourage them if you want to be the happiest you can be.”

Prompto watched her lips move, but felt detached from the whole thing. Happiest? What had she seen?

“We’d best get back, now,” she suggested smoothly. “We should arrive just in time for dinner.”

…

As Prompto approached the side door with Lunafreya leading the way, he found his mind buzzing with questions.

Did they want him back? Was this alright? He wasn’t being annoying, right? Wasn’t crossing any lines? There wasn’t anyone new? Had anyone else left?

Did Ignis  _ really _ miss him?

By the door, turnips had been carved into silly faces for All Hallows. The candles had been lit, their white flesh glowing even in the light of the street lamps.

Lunafreya knocked three times on the door, wincing slightly as her knuckles came away red. It wasn’t long before the door was pulled open and Noctis stared them down, eyes wide.

“Luna?” he gasped, only to peer around her. “And…” He glanced between them, expression torn as his eyes flicked from blonde to blond. “How… Why…”

“Ignis didn’t tell you. Not yet. He had no way of knowing I would arrive,” Lunafreya offered warmly.

Slowly, Noctis nodded. Then he waved them in.

Prompto followed Lunafreya through the door, glancing to the side only to find his things had been moved.

“Lunafreya is right.”

Prompto froze.

“I was waiting for the right time to break the news that she would be joining us for All Hallows,” Ignis continued, voice almost bored.

Prompto wanted to turn. Wanted to face the older boy. To peer into bright green eyes and admire a broad nose, sharp jaw, and the smallest cleft in his chin. And yet his entire body had been seized by the need to remain utterly and completely still.

He’d imagined their reunion so many times, growing more vivid with each passing fantasy. They’d begun simple enough. Handshakes. A joke. Maybe even a hug.

Then a lingering embrace.

A soft, hesitant kiss. Something gentle. Innocent. Chaste.

Something with tongue.

Tanned fingers tangling in his short hair, pulling him close.

Wandering hands.

Nervous “I missed you”s bracketed by heady gasps and fingers not his own playing with the hem of his shirt.

And then he turned. Ignis stood before the stove, fussing over a pan with an apron tied about his waist. His hair was neatly combed, and on his shoulder Aranea perched, picking at a dried cherry.

Gladiolus dove between them, slapping his hands over Prompto’s shoulders and grinning from ear to ear. “You’re just in time for the rites tomorrow.”

Prompto blinked.

“Lunafreya came all the way from Altissia to join us this year,” Ignis put in from the stove.

Suddenly, a whisper drew Prompto’s attention over to where Noctis and Lunafreya stood by the still-open door. Noctis was a fair few inches shorter than the woman, expression solemn as he murmured, “It’s good to see you, Luna.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Noctis.”

“So,” Gladiolus began, steering Prompto toward the table, “think you’ll join us? It’s tomorrow morning, break of dawn. We’ll have this big bonfire on the beach and we’ll be making offerings. We used to do it at midnight, but the police kept thinking we were drunk teenagers. Especially with the nude dancing part.”

Prompto’s eyes shot nervously to the side as his mouth dropped open. All that came out, though, was a breath of air.

Thick lips parted, confusion pinching dark eyes and heavy brows. “Is something wrong?”

His throat  _ pinched _ .

“Prompto’s been ill,” Ignis volunteered. All eyes swivelled to him as he placed the pan on another ring, wiping his hands off on each other as he shifted to face the group. He was taller than Prompto remembered. His face was riddled with acne, and his nose seemed smaller. “I imagine it must be difficult for him to speak at the moment.”

Gladiolus took a step back, turning to Prompto with a grin; this one softer. “Sorry about that,” he said.

A shake of his head was Prompto’s reply.

Ignis clapped his hands with a note of finality. “With that, shall we eat some dinner? Noctis, grab an extra chair, would you?”

…

After dinner, Ignis pulled Prompto up to his room, where Prompto’s things had been piled against the wall.

“Lunafreya will be staying in your room,” Ignis informed him softly, glancing to the open door before pushing it quickly closed. “You’ll be staying with me in the meantime, seeing as I have the largest room.”

Prompto could only nod along, swallowing down the small lump in his throat.

Then…

...arms.

Drawing forward, Ignis wrapped him in a tight embrace, face buried in blond hair before he pulled away, holding Prompto at arm’s length. “I didn’t tell the others about your little problem,” he announced firmly. “Though you probably already figured that out.”

Prompto nodded, reaching up to brush a bit of his bangs out of his eyes.

“You look good. Your clothes suit you, at last. You never struck me as a Plain Jane. Looks like you finally put some meat back on your bones, as well. That’s good.”

Prompto was reeling.

Ignis grinned down at him, teeth bared. “It’s good to have you back.”

…

Sharing a bed with Ignis made Prompto feel creepy. He kept thoughts to a minimum as they laid together in the cramped twin. As their legs and arms brushed.

Ignis read from a book late into the night; from the grimoire Prompto had left behind in fear of being discovered.

“Tomorrow we’ll be submitting our hopes and prayers to the gods after the bonfire begins to die,” Ignis told him softly at one point. “There’s no obligation to join us, but if you do I’d like you to have a wish prepared. You’ll have to speak it into the fire and have an offering ready to burn, but I’ll prepare something for you.”

…

Prompto woke to an empty bed just as the grandfather clock struck three. He blinked away, peering about the room, confused that Ignis’ side of the bed was cold.

Had he done something in his sleep?

Anxiety sized him. What could he have possibly done?

Rising to his feet, he set off through the house, striding down the stairs to find… everyone stepping through the door.

“What happened to dawn?” he asked, voice coming out as a sharp, angry squeak even as his throat closed up.

Ignis’ face shot up, fixing Prompto with wide eyes and a wider mouth.

A laugh burst through the air, and Noctis lifted a stick with one hand. “Still on, man. A bonfire takes  _ work _ and you were out like a  _ light _ . Luna’s watching it for us.” He paused, frowning suddenly. “Speaking of which, you’ll need an offering.”

Immediately, Prompto felt sheepish. For assuming they had gone without him. For assuming they wouldn’t try to wake him. For not asking first.

It must have shown on his face, because Noctis paused as he passed, patting his shoulder lightly before continuing through the door and into the hall.

Prompto followed as a pale hand motioned for him to do so.

Outside there was a bitter chill. Frost dotted the grass, lit by street lamps and glimmering almost as bright as the moon. They walked quickly through the yard, Prompto stumbling in the slippers he had borrowed as he moved in Noctis’ shadow. His eyes darted around the grass nervously.

As the door was thrown open, Noctis clicked his tongue. “The fire’s too low,” he announced, stepping into the tiled room. Moving over to the fireplace, he gave the hearth a good prodding and dropped another hunk of wood on top before turning back to Prompto. “That should hold for a while,” he declared happily, hands planted firmly on his hips. “Now,  about that offering.”

Prompto opened his mouth to reply, only for nothing to come out.

For a moment, Noctis watched as he floundered. As no noise fell through the room even as his friend made an earnest attempt to speak. It was only when pert lips closed in a quiet surrender that he spoke. “Some rosemary would work,” he suggested, moving over to one of the smaller pots. “It’s fragrant, and from what I can tell the gods like it.”

Pale cheeks flushed as Prompto gave a weak nod.

Waving him over, Noctis pull an athame from his pocket, sliding it out of its sheath. The blade appeared to be made of bone; a stark white that curved wickedly at the end. “This is my athame for thin stalks,” he announced, offering it up handle first. “Be careful with it, okay? It’s sharp.”

He nodded again, stepping forward and reaching up to accept the knife. Turning to the plant, he glanced nervously from Noctis, then to the sprigs before him. They rose out of the pot like the bamboo in his mothers’ yard. He reached for the plant, lips pursed, only to pause.

Noctis watched, amused, as his hands drew away and clasped together instead. “That’s right,” he murmured. “Thank it first.” When it was done – when Prompto stood with a sprig of rosemary in his hand and Noctis dabbed a bit of cloudy fluid onto where they had cut – Noctis turned to him with a wide grin. “You did a good job,” he said. “And I like the duds, man.”

They headed back into the house after that, Prompto trailing behind like a small duck before they stepped into the house. They kicked off their shoes and slippers, bumping shoulders.

As soon as they made it to the kitchen, Ignis glanced up from the table. Sandwiched between his elbows was a grimoire. It was open to a page filled with long, thick paragraphs. Nothing like an ingredient page. “Welcome back,” he greeted.

“Hey, Iggy.”

Prompto waved nervously.

Rising to his feet, Ignis closed the grimoire and motioned toward the shop with his hand. “Prompto, would you join me in the basement for a moment?”

He nodded quickly, shuffling away from Noctis and toward the closed door.

Ignis pulled it open with a shaky hand.

Following close behind, Prompto gripped the hem of his shirt.

Ignis looked… harried. Uncomfortable. He took the stairs two at a time, hand shivering against the railing as he flew down into the basement. As he strode up to a small safe in the corner.

Through the mess of his already overwhelming anxiety, Prompto thought he felt something like nervousness as Ignis began winding the dials on the safe.

As it popped open, tanned hands reached in to retrieve a small bottle that glimmered aqua in the light. Drawing it out, Ignis turned back, holding it carefully up to the light. “Remember this?” he asked.

The light caught the label.

_ First Love _ .

Slowly, Prompto shook his head no.

“It’s the potion you made,” he replied, voice low. “Considering your situation, I figured now would be a good time to give its potency a test run. So long as you consent, of course.”

Prompto froze.

Potion he made?

_ First love _ ?

Did Ignis  _ know _ ?

Ignis paused. The nervous tilt to his lips gave a turn. They twitched instead into something more guilty. “My apologies for the title. It was the most fitting name I could come up with.”

Prompto’s fingers twisted in his shirt.

“I won’t pry,” Ignis continued warmly. “You are under no obligation to tell me if I was right or wrong, or who your feelings are for. You are allowed you anonymity.”

A silence passed between them before the younger boy – scared, a touch hopeful – stepped forward and nodded. Slowly, he opened his mouth, sticking out his tongue.

Ignis was quick to undo the top and pull out the dropper. 

And then…

… it was over.

The sinking sensation in Prompto’s head lifted first. Then the hot lump in his throat, followed by the nausea that had taken up residence in his stomach for months. His hand burned… but in a soft,  _ wonderful _ way.

“How do you feel?” Ignis asked.

Warm. Happy. “This is love?” Prompto asked instead, voice soft.

“I’m not sure,” was the sudden, oddly elated reply. Tense shoulders sagged at the words. Hands ceased shaking and the nervous line of his lips drew into a smile. “I’m but seventeen. How am I to know the mysteries of love?”

“But you think it’s love,” Prompto insisted, growing bolder with each word. “Not just some silly crush or… some passing fantasy?”

Slowly, Ignis shook his head. “That, I can’t tell you,” he admitted again. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“Yeah,” he replied quickly.

“I think we all feel things differently,” he admitted quietly. “I think no one can tell you what love is because you’ll experience it in your own way, and only you can decide if it’s love or not.”

…

Dawn arrived quickly. Or perhaps, Prompto thought to himself, it arrived at the normal time. Perhaps each second no longer felt like an eternity that he was passively surviving. With Aranea on his shoulder cracking jokes every few seconds, he had to remember how to laugh. How to smile.

He wanted to smile.

“Don’t they need holy land for something like this?” Aranea asked as they climbed a fence and the dirt turned to sand.

“I’ll ask,” he suggested, shrugging. Clearing his throat, he called out to the others, “Don’t we need, like, holy land or something like that for this?”

Ignis was the first to respond, lagging behind the group with a wide, earnest grin. “At times, yes. Unfortunately, sacred land is hard to come by. There were very few options in the location department when we asked the town for somewhere to make offerings to the dead,” he explained, a small chortle to his words. “We make do with what we have.”

They came out to the beach a few seconds later, coming into view of a large, roaring fire.

“Nope,” Aranea announced firmly, jumping into the air. “Nope, nope, nope. Not doing that. Have fun with your barbecue. I’ll be a safe distance away.”

“Aranea-” Prompto called as she took to the air.

“We’ll meet back up when you’re done,” she called behind her with a chirp.

Prompto hesitated before continuing forward. The fire was enormous, sectioned off away from trees or any brush. And against the fire, two figures stood out against the light of the flames.

The first was Lunafreya; her back ramrod straight and her white dress streaked with soot.

The second, Prompto only knew from photos. She was an older woman; her back bowed and her expression proud. Thick lines worked their way through her face. Laugh lines etched into her very skin as deep as they would go.

Kimya Auburnbrie.

“Look at you,” she greeted when he finally approached. “Served you well, the growth spurt did.”

Prompto sputtered a formal, “It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am,” for lack of any proper response. He was reeling. It was  _ Kimya Auburnbrie. _ In the  _ flesh _ .

Stepping over to the fire, Ignis shoved a large section of sage into the flames.

Off to the side, Noctis sighed. “So how formal is this going to be?” he asked, weight shifting onto one leg. “Like, I know we’re not going to do the nude dancing thing, but beyond that I’m not sure. Last year we spent, like, four hours down here and I’m not sure that’s the first impression we should give Prompto.”

“Four hours?!” Prompto gasped, turning sharply to look from Noctis, then back at Ignis.

A sigh broke the air as Ignis brought the sage out of the fire. “We’ll be keeping it brief,” he explained softly. “Only a few words, and Kimya will be doing a few chants. We’ll toss our offerings in and do a prayer. Nothing too fancy.”

“No group incantations?” Noctis asked.

“No group incantations.”

Despite himself, Prompto breathed a sigh of relief.

“Shall we get this started, then?” Lunafreya asked, pulling open a large bag at her feet. She reached in with a grin, retrieving a large… a  _ very _ large… 

Bone?

Prompto was pretty sure it was a bone and not a prop.

“What’s that?” he asked, going pale.

“Cow bones,” Gladiolus announced, sidling up beside him as everyone else fanned out around the fire.

Prompto watched as she threw the bones on the flames, and Kimya began to chant words he couldn’t make out over the roar of the fire.

“Fire we thank the gods for giving us a plentiful harvest,” Gladiolus continued.

Prompto shivered as a larger arm than he remembered wrapped firmly around his shoulders, bringing them close.

“We thank them for keeping us fed and any little thing that kept us going through the year, and thank them for their love and careful attention. If this were midnight we’d be thanking those who had passed, but the witching hour is long gone.”

“Witching hour? You mean midnight on Halloween, right? When like… the spirit world is… closer?” 

“When the divide is more…  _ sheer _ , but yeah,” Gladiolus agreed heartily, giving Prompto a little shake. “Look at you. Learning things.”

Lunafreya chased the bones with strips of what could only be animal fat, and the smell…

The  _ smell _ .

“Go ahead and say your prayers,” Lunafreya called as Kimya’s arms fell and her mouth grew still.

“Youngest first,” Ignis shouted, motioning with his hand toward Noctis, then the fire.

Prompto watched, transfixed, as Noctis nodded, then moved forward over the sand. In his hand was a dark sprig of something he was pretty sure was aloe-vera. Throwing it into the bonfire, his mouth moved in what Prompto knew was a prayer. It was a bit longer than he expected, stretching for several minutes before he stepped away and turned to Prompto, racing up to slap his shoulder

“Your turn,” he said, lips twitching into an eager grin. “Go pray to your Christian God.”

A gulp followed. A nervous, unsteady step forward. Then Prompto continued, taking step after step toward the fire. It waa hot; hotter than he thought it would be. He blinked against the light of it, trying not to stare directly into the flames. Then, bracing himself against the heat, he lifted the hand in which the rosemary was still clenched, tossing it into the fire.

He closed his light against the heat as they began to dry, his “Christian God” suddenly far from his thoughts. “Zodiark?” he began instead, voice soft and unsure. “I, uh… I don’t know if you exist. Or if you can hear me.” Pausing, he cleared his throat before attempting a quiet, “I want things to be okay.” Hands twisted in the hem of his shirt, and his eyes opened once more, fixing deep in the bonfire like he had been warned against as a child. “Just okay is good.”

And he turned away.

And everyone cheered.

The boys had gathered together at his back, staring him down with matching grins, hands clapping loudly over the crackle of the fire. His face burned as Noctis began to woop.

“Hot, huh?” Gladio said, stepping up to throw an arm around Prompto’s shoulders once more. “You get used to it.”

Prompto nodded quickly, squirming out of the moist grip. “I don’t know,” he began as loudly as he could muster. “You’re a wall of sweat right now.”

There was a laugh. A slap on the back.

Noctis collapsed onto the sand as Ignis stepped up to the fire, Gladiolus circling away.

Prompto stepped over to him, collapsing at his friend’s side as his eyes turned to the older boy reaching toward the flames. “What do you think he’s gonna pray for?”

Slim shoulders shrugged. “I dunno, man. Probably the good of the shop or something. He’s a pretty boring guy.”

Blond lashes fluttered in shock at this. “Boring?” he quoted. “Ignis isn’t boring.”

“Yeah, he is,” Noctis fired back. “It’s all potions and cooking and praying and  _ budgeting _ with him. He doesn’t ever unwind. He can’t even find time for a puzzle sometimes.”

“He’s a busy guy,” Prompto defended softly. “And maybe potions and stuff are boring to you, but I think they’re pretty cool.”

Noctis laughed.

“What?”

“You passed.”

Nausea built in Prompto’s stomach at the words. Anxiety; uncalled for and unwanted, but there. “What did I pass?”

Noctis’ cheek twitched into a grin, and he turned to Prompto with the softest of smiles. “It’s nice to know you wouldn’t toss a friend under the bus.”

“Why would I do that?”

“It’s easy to do. I’ve gotta admit; I’ve done it before.”

Prompto stared.

Stepping away from the fire, Ignis motioned for Gladiolus to switch places.

“You spent a lot of time with Ignis the last time you were here,” Noctis explained softly. “Gladiolus and I didn’t get a chance to get to know you very well. You were either working the shop, sleeping, or working with Ignis in the basement. Gladio and I are just kinda curious what kind of guy you are. Or who you’ve become while you’ve been away for the year. We still don’t know why you came back so suddenly, or what you were doing while you were gone. Your letters were always vague and noncommittal. You avoided my questions and pretended everything was alright. The thing is, I keep asking Ignis, who apparently knows what happened, but he won’t tell me anything. It’s all a little frustrating.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t  _ apologize _ , dude. I’m just saying…” He groaned, running a hand through unruly black hair and collapsing back into the sand.

By the fire, Luna switched places with Gladiolus.

“You can tell us if you want, I guess? You can trust us. Wanna trust you.”

Prompto could barely hear him over the fire. Over the gentle whisper of the waves and the suddenly blistering breeze that kicked up around them. Squinting his eyes against the sand, he peered down at Noctis with a nervous grin. “If you don’t figure it out on your own, I’ll tell you,” he promised.

“And… thanks. Thanks for joining us, man.”

A smile lit on Prompto’s face, then. Warm. Affectionate. Oddly sincere. “Any time,” he insisted softly. “I wanna… I wanna learn more about being a witch. Of course I wanna join.”

They turned back to the rite, watching as Kimya took up residence beside the fire and tossed in a number of offerings; herbs and wooden dolls and even a series of small slabs of meat before stepping away.

And then Lunafreya was there, standing before them.

Noctis sat up straighter, but her eyes were on Prompto.

“We’re both hungry,” she insisted, grinning from ear to ear.

Prompto’s stomach, on cue, rumbled loudly.

Motioning behind her with one hand, she shrugged. “They’ll take care of the fire. How about we head to the café? It just opened, and they have great crêpes.”

For the moments that followed, Prompto tried to ignore the way Noctis’ shoulders shrunk as soon as it was clear he wasn’t about to be addressed. As soon as Prompto accepted the invitation – because he  _ was _ hungry, and crêpes sounded great – he almost regretted it.

…

“I’m lucky I caught you at a time when no one’s running around like a chicken with their head cut off,” Luna said as soon as their crêpes arrived, lips in a broad smile as she split a strawberry neatly in two with her fork. “I wasn’t sure this would go so well.”

“Sure,” Prompto agreed, taking a bite of his banana. And…

Wow.

Good banana.

“Speaking of chickens, you should get some.”

“Uh… Why?”

She blinked, leaning back as if caught with her hand in the cookie jar. The look was gone in an instant, replaced instead by a sheepish thing that made her somehow even more beautiful. “Oops,” she said lightly. “Too early in the time stream. Forget I said anything.”

Prompto stared, just for a moment, before  his eyes turned to the edge of the table. He turned the conversation casually to the canine sitting faithfully at her side. “I like your dog.”

“Her name is Pryna,” she supplied quickly. “She’s Umbra’s twin, actually.”

He nodded, not quite sure what to do with this information.

In the distance the bell above the door rang, and there came a shout. Within seconds Aranea had perched on Prompto’s shoulder, chirping happily.

“There you are,” he said, voice high.

“Hello, Aranea,” Lunafreya greeted happily.

Aranea preened. “Look at you; making eye contact and everything.”

“How are you doing?” the woman continued, resting her arms casually against the table as she leaned forward.

“Good,” Aranea replied. “Just teased a dog for half an hour.”

Prompto snorted.

Pryna growled.

Glancing from the bird to her dog, Lunafreya’s smile dropped. “May I ask what she said?”

“She just spent the last half hour teasing a dog.”

Pryna gave a small, angry huff.

“Pryna doesn’t approve.”

“It was small and screaming at everything that passed by,” Aranea defended deftly. “Honestly. So rude. I hope he gets laryngitis.”

The noise Pryna made, then, was an oddly amused huff.

“New topic. Can I try some of your crêpe?” Lunafreya asked, leaning back into her chair until her posture was once more the severe line Prompto was quickly growing used to. “I’m regretting not getting the banana.”

Prompto was quick to nod. To push his plate across the table until it abutted hers. He watched as her fork dove forward into his crêpe, breaking off a small section with the banana before stabbing them through and sliding them expertly through the whipped creme.

Taking the modest bite, her free hand rose to cup her cheek, and she blew a small, relieved sigh. “Goodness,” she breathed. “The strawberry is great, it really is, but there’s something about the texture of bananas that goes so well with crepes.”

They were halfway in before he thought to ask, “No advice for me this time? You know – aside from what I’m supposed to forget?”

She smiled, swallowing a strawberry before replying with a light, “You’ll be good without it.”

“Will I?”

Her gaze fixed on him, then. It was a long, intense thing; her eyes relaxed and her mouth a thin, firm line. “Things will get tough after a while,” she told him. “But you’re going to do wonderfully, Prompto.”

…

Dinner was an  _ experience _ with Lunafreya there.

She was full of compliments. Full of warm expressions and the strangest insistences. “Prompto’s allergic to lima beans,” she said at one point. “Or he will be in about three years. You shouldn’t include them in your cooking.”

Prompto stared at her for ten minutes after that.

Noctis, across the table, made a point to fix his eyes on anyone but Lunafreya.

…

The goodbyes were heavy in the air as Lunafreya mounted her broom. As she swept her pointed heels off the grass and lifted her hand in farewell.

“How far do you have to fly?” Prompto asked, curious.

She turned to him, grin playful. “I think you should figure it out with the maps Sania mama will give you. Work out an algorithm and experiment a bit. You’d enjoy that very much.”

Prompto froze at the mention of his mother.

Did Lunafreya know?

Did she care?

Her grin only grew wider, and a breeze played with the edge of her skirt. “Well,” she began loudly, “that’s my cue!”

Prompto stepped back with the others as they shuffled away from the woman before him. As they raised their hands in farewell and she rose into the sky. She was distant in an instant, skirt flapping about in her wake as she sped off over the town.

A hand fell on his shoulder.

Prompto jumped.

“Apologies,” Ignis whispered softly, breath brushing the shell of a pale ear. “I simply wanted to tell you not to dwell too long on the specific nature of her visions. She’s a very open woman. If she had a problem with your mothers, you would know.”

“G- Got it,” Prompto stuttered softly. “I won’t worry about it.”

Ignis gave a slow nod, hand retreating along with him as he stepped back into the house.

Prompto watched him go, frozen in place.

And then…

Then it was just him and Noctis.

The older boy had frozen in place, eyes fixed to the trail of holes left in the grass from pointed heels.

“You okay?”

Noctis jumped. “What?”

Blinking owlishly, Prompto reached for the hem of his shirt, only to pause. “Are you okay?” he asked again.

The reply took a while. Seconds passed in relative silence, broken only by the gentle whistle of a salty breeze blowing through a nearby alley. “I’m okay,” he said eventually, hands clenched at his side. “I’m fine. I’m just…” A breath blew between clenched teeth as a pale hand worked through dark hair. “It was too short, you know? I couldn’t even look her in the  _ eye _ .”

Then Prompto’s mouth opened and a dull, “You like her,” fell out into the air like the accident it was.

For a moment, Noctis puffed up like Aranea throwing a fit. Prompto could practically imagine plumage fluffing up around him. He was quick to deflate. Quick to offer a soft, “Is it really that obvious?”

Thought was put into the next answer; a small and docile, “Not really.”

Noctis sighed. “Ignis says I need to wait?”

“... For what?”

“To get to an age where she takes me seriously.”

Prompto blinked. His stomach twisted. Age? He’d never considered that before. “You’re fifteen, right? Like me?”

Noctis nodded, short and rabbity. Pale hands dove into shallow pockets as he breathed a sigh. “And she’s nineteen.”

“Really?” Prompto wondered aloud. “I thought she was older.”

“She gives that impression,” he acknowledged quickly, eyes turned to the sky. To the small nest Aranea had begun to rebuild atop the plant shop. His eyes followed her as she flitted back and forth from the downed, chopped tree in the yard, grabbing twig after twig to add to the structure. “I’ve known her since I was young. We’ve been writing each other since I was nine.”

An impressed whistle broke the air. “Six years, huh? When are you gonna tell her?”

“I’m not.”

Prompto blinked, watching in shock as Noctis turned and strode into the house. “Noctis?” he called. “Hey, Noctis!”

“Good to have you back, Prompto,” he called over his shoulder.

…

The attic was just as he left it.

Except dusty.

He almost couldn’t believe it.

He was home.

…

The next morning – a Saturday – arrived all too quickly. Prompto had cleaned late into the night, but there was only so much one could do about dust deep in the mattress. He’d sniffled into the early hours of the morning, tossing and turning and never quite getting comfortable. But as the grandfather clock struck a familiar six notes he rose before the sun, racing down the stairs to find Ignis already at the stove, digging deep into the fridge.

His hair was sticking straight up again.

“Did you even sleep last night?” Prompto asked, skeptical, as he paused at the bottom of the stairs.

Ignis glanced up, eyebrows arched high. His growth spurt was all too obvious as he straightened, clothes tight against lithe biceps and thick thighs.

Prompto felt a surge of  _ something _ in him at the sight.

Not something, though.

Love.

Brushing the hair back, Ignis reached for the hat sitting on the counter and slapped it on his head.

“What? No. It looks good,” Prompto insisted.

“It looks strange,” Ignis argued, a flush budding in his cheeks as he tugged the article further down over his hair. Turning back toward the fridge, he reached in deep with one arm. “Would you mind helping me with breakfast?”

“Sure,” he said quickly, pushing up his sleeves and moving over to the sink. “What do you need?”

“Just set the table, if you don’t mind. I haven’t had a sous-chef in quite some time. It may take some getting used to.”

Prompto gave a mock salute. “Yes, sir,” he agreed firmly before turning back to the sink. Twisting on the tap, he reached quickly for the soap.

“Iggy, you’re not supposed to put him to work until Monday!”

Prompto glanced up, surprised to find Gladiolus standing in the doorway to the stairs, brown eyes half rolled toward the ceiling.

He strode up to the younger boy, throwing an arm around narrow shoulders with a gruff, “Come here, you!”

Face flushed, eyes wide, Prompto let himself be embraced by warm, thick arms. He rinsed his hands quickly. Reached for the towel beside the sink with a nervous laugh. “He-ey,” he greeted nervously. “What’s up?”

“What’s up is that you’re  _ back _ ,” Gladiolus replied quickly. His arms drew away, hands taking hold of plump arms and giving the unsuspecting younger boy a good shake. “Welcome home!”

…

They were cleaning up from breakfast – Ignis and Prompto were, at least – when it came up.

Handing off another dish to be dried, green eyes shifted to blue as their fingers brushed. As pale cheeks flared with color. Turning back to the sink, Ignis took a soft breath. “I’ve started an updated dossier of everything in the store,” he said, pausing to run his tongue over his bottom lip. “There’s a separate list of what people can special order, as well.”

“Is it inventory time already?” Prompto asked, giving the dish another cautious wipe before placing it with the others on the drying rack.

“Not yet,” was the hesitant reply. “However, I figured it might make things…  _ easier _ for you, should you decide to come back to the shop. I’ve had a larger influx of customers as of late. I wouldn’t want to leave you high and dry all on your own.”

He nodded firmly, leaning forward on his toes, then back onto the balls of his feet, before taking the next bowl. “That’d be very helpful, yeah. I was hoping to come back.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Prompto beamed.

It was three dishes – three handoffs, three brushes of the fingers, three subtle blushes that went ignored – before Ignis asked, “How are you feeling?”

Blue eyes turned up, surprised.

“You’re obviously up to talking again,” he pointed out, voice soft. “But Empathy isn’t a… Well, it  _ is _ a magic potion, but it’s not perfect. I’d like to know if you need more, and how you’re doing. I want… I want to be sure that you’re doing alright now that the potion has worn off.”

Prompto’s grin lit his face like a chandelier.

Slowly, concern bled from Ignis’ jaw. His lips untwisted. His eyes fell naturally to half mast.

“I’m good,” Prompto told him honestly. “Better than I’ve been in ages.”

And then…

Ignis smiled

It was a bright thing. A warm thing. A thing that made Prompto’s heart beat double time as his gaze dragged over the curve of lips and the crinkle of eyes that turned up at the edges.

_ This is love _ , he thought to himself.  _ This is love. _


	6. Carbuncle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arnaud inspired a beautiful thing in this chapter, and it’s now my favorite running theme in this entire story. You’ll know what I mean when we get to, uh... chapter ten, to be honest.
> 
> As always, thanks to the lovely Coffee for editing this chapter and generally being wonderful.
> 
> Enjoy some Sania, because we could always use more Sania.

Prompto sat on the steps for a long time after the shop closed. After the final customer had left for the day and the clock in the hall struck five, he closed and locked the front doors, counted the till, locked everything in the safe, and proceeded to race out the side door and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Noctis laughed good naturedly at him, but was otherwise quiet.

Ignis offered him cold drink after cold drink.

With his tool belt over one shoulder and a grin on his face, Gladiolus laughed as his eyes landed on Prompto, finally returning home from work. “She’s not getting here until eight! What are you doing on the porch?”

“Her letter said she might get here sooner,” Prompto argued, puffing up.

“You’re going to boil.”

“It’s not  _ that _ hot.” It was a lie. Sweat was streaming, wetting his shirt beneath the nonexistent sleeves and at the collar. His skin shone beneath the sun that refused to set, already a toasty red that threatened to peel.

It would be a record-breaking summer to be sure.

Gladiolus just snorted, rolling his eyes before motioning to the door. “Can I get past?”

“Oh. Right. Of course,” Prompto agreed quickly. The concrete grabbed at his shorts as he moved, tugging at one of the pockets as it scraped by.

He passed with a hop, dark eyes drawing down to drag over pale hair and a paler face. “You should get inside before you get heat stroke,” he insisted loudly before retreating into the house.

Prompto didn’t.

Half an hour later a car pulled up to the curb.

Prompto raced up to the car, peering through the window. “Mom!” he shouted. “Mom!”

Sania peered at him through the glass, grinning mischievously. Her eyes turned to the street, glancing up and down the road before her door popped open. As soon as she was on the sidewalk she was engulfed. “I missed you, too,” she cooed as pale arms wrapped around her shoulders. “Now let me go. You’re a sweat monster!”

Drawing back with a sheepish grin, he went immediately to the trunk. “Do you have any bags to bring in? How was the drive? Want any help?”

“The drive was tiring,” she answered first, heaving a yawn that pinched her shoulders before approaching the trunk. “And yes, I’ll need help. I come bearing gifts!”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” she insisted dryly. “Now let’s get out of this heat and inside.”

“Uh… Mom?”

“Yes?”

“There’s no air conditioning.”

Just as she unlocked the trunk, sending it popping desperately open, Sania looked pointedly at Prompto with a shocked, “... What?”

“Well if it isn’t Prompto’s mom, at last.”

Prompto shifted, eyes turning to the older boy in the doorway.

There Gladiolus stood, unnecessarily shirtless and just as sweaty as Prompto, a towel wrapped around his neck and a grin on his face.

“You must be Gladiolus,” she greeted. Her hand drew up, flicking at the brim of her hat to see him better. “I’ve heard all about you from Prompto’s letters.”

A laugh followed, warm and amused. “Oh have you?”

“Of course! Boy’s a chatterbox,” she drawled.

Prompto was about to say something. To put in that he was not, in fact, a chatterbox. Instead he could only watch in utter and complete mortification as his mother turned to him and mouthed,  _ He’s the hot one _ .

Prompto wanted to die.

Her things were quickly brought into the house, along with a number of wrapped packages, labeled for each of the boys. They deposited the gifts on the kitchen table while Ignis tended to a dinner of fresh fruit and cold sandwiches. All of which he placed one by one in the freezer before pulling up the extra chair.

“Noctis first,” Sania insisted as they looked over the packages. Her hands clasped together expectantly, blinking up at the boy with open amusement. “Go on, then!”

The boy in question stared at his package, visibly alarmed. It was the largest of the bunch, with a large ribbon wrapped around its center. Boxes had been taped together, implying multiple gifts. It took him a while to open them. Took a while to reach for the athame he kept in his pocket for small harvests out to cut the ribbon. He tore into the presents quickly, then. Cutting the seams of the tape, his fingers dug into the paper. He tore it open quickly, taking his knife to the taped boxes within before peering into the cardboard.

He stared for a good thirty awkward seconds before Ignis breathed an amused sigh. “Well, then, what is it?”

Reaching into the first box, Noctis produced a small plant light. “I… I thank you.”

“Prompto mentioned you were having a fungus problem a few times. I figured something that would help you quarantine plants might come in handy.”

Noctis’ head bobbed in an almost mindless nod as he agreed heartily. “Thank you,” he said again, voice firm. “Really.”

“It’s no trouble, darling. Honestly, Prompto talks about you boys so much in his letters I feel like I know you,” she cooed.

Pale cheeks flushed.

“Now, Gladiolus, it’s your turn. You’re the only one I’m not sure about.”

“Comforting,” he drawled in reply, reaching for the smallest gift. “Does he write about me less?”

“Most of what he has to say about you is hero worship nonsense,” she lied easily.

“Hero worship, huh?” Gladiolus grinned at this.

He didn’t know.

He  _ didn’t know _ .

Prompto wanted to  _ die _ .

Gladiolus’ gift wrap was quick to fly to the floor, fluttering loudly through the air like a flock of birds. They settled on the hardwood like little still crickets. And as the box was torn open, the older boy let out a laugh. Reaching into the box, he revealed a small dumbell. “No wonder this was heavy,” he snorted.

“There’s more where that came from in the car,” Sania informed him quickly as she leaned back in her chair. Her arms crossed, lips twisting in an amused grin.

Brown eyes shifted to Prompto, then, narrowed as if in appraisal. “Guess you know me better than I thought,” Gladiolus hummed.

Prompto nodded weakly, sinking in his chair. “Uh… Sure,” he agreed softly. Secretly he hoped Gladiolus didn’t use them. Hoped he wouldn’t have to be in a world where his already devastatingly handsome friend was also devastatingly ripped. That would be too much to handle.

Finally, to Prompto’s joy, attention turned to Ignis.

“Go on, then,” Sania urged him, voice eager. She pushed the final package toward the boy, head bobbing enthusiastically. “I hope you like it.”

Ignis was slow to reach the package. When he finally grabbed it, he went slow. He undid the wrapping methodically, attempting to preserve it. The tape was carefully cut with Noctis’ offered athame, then peeled away carefully along with the colorful paper. Then, at last, it was open.

There were panes of glass arranged inside a wall of bubble wrap. Prompto recognized it from his mother’s lab - a self-contained, multi-level ecosystem. Seed packets filled the bottom layer, while the top housed a small battery-powered incubator.

“They’re frog spawn and plants indigenous to Niflheim,” Sania informed them happily. “I figure this way Prompto gets a taste of home while you have some specimens to work with for your potions.”

For a long moment Ignis only stared at the ecosystem. His eyes slipped from the top to the bottom level carefully. Lovingly. Then he turned. Popping out of his seat, he took two broad steps around the table and wrapped his arms firmly about the unsuspecting woman.

She gasped, struggling for the briefest moment before her arms found his waist awkwardly.

Prompto could barely make sense of the whispers to follow. Of a hushed, “Thank you.”

“Thank you for taking care of my son,” Sania fired back, just as quiet. “He wouldn’t have made it without you.”

Ignis shook his head, and as he drew away his gaze turned to blue eyes and blond hair. Then, with his attention fixed on Prompto, he insisted a soft, “He would have been fine.”

…

Later that night, bent over a thick wooden board riddled with pegs, Sania laid down four cards and grinned.

Groans sounded from Gladiolus and Noctis, hanging in the air like a curse.

“And for my crib,” she began smugly, “we have your  _ lovely _ little additions.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Noctis huffed. “Not again.”

Off in the hallway, Prompto laughed. “I warned you guys,” he scolded.

“Two sevens, two eights, and a six from the cut. Fifteen-two, fifteen-four, fifteen-six, fifteen-eight, pair for ten, pair for twelve, and four runs of three makes twenty-four, lads.”

“Why did you give her a pair of sevens?” Noctis groaned.

Gladiolus scoffed. “Says the guy who gave her eights!”

Sneaking out the back door, Prompto left the ruckus behind, tapping his shoes against the ground. He reached into his coat, quickly retrieving a thick, old-fashioned key. Stepping through the yard, attempting to avoid the worst of the mud, he made his way to the plant shop’s rear door, opening it quickly. He wasted no time from there, stoking the fire and reaching into the inside pocket of his coat once more, retrieving a small hunk of bread wrapped in a napkin. Tossing it quickly into the fire, he glanced out the glass storefront before turning back to the hearth.

“Hey, uh. Zodiark. It’s me, again,” he greeted nervously. “Just, you know… checking in that things are still okay. Or, uh… They’re great actually. Thanks. For that. I - uh… I just want to keep up on that, I guess. The whole ‘wanting things to be okay’ thing. So yeah. Thank you. Again.”

…

It was late when Prompto woke. The clock chimed eleven in the distance, playing through dark halls and rooms flooded by the light of the full moon. His stomach growled.

As he made his way down the stairs, being careful to avoid the creaky boards, his ears caught the edge of a sentence. Drawing the attic door open, he peered down around the second floor, glancing from door to door. But the voice seemed further off. Further down.

Making his way down the stairs, to the main floor, Prompto tried to block out the words that came next.

“- store is fine. We’ll bounce back in a few weeks.”

“And what if an emergency expense comes up in that time? Besides, this has less to do with your financial situation and more to do with a business venture.” That was Sania, talking faster than usual. “There’s probably a large market in Niflheim just waiting to be tapped!”

“Well, yes, considering being a witch is  _ illegal _ there.”

“Look; do you want the account or not?”

“I do. I’m just not sure I should accept it,” came the low admission. “We’d have to work out a shipping arrangement, as well, and that could get expensive.”

“If we did a test run, would that be okay?”

“A test run?”

“I’ll take two cases back with me to Insomnia. We’ll see how they sell and work from there.”

Ignis hummed. It was a thinking hum; one that was barely heard through the door. Then there came a firm, confident,  _ “Alright.” _

_ “Excellent!” _

_ “Remind me – how long are you planning on staying?” _

_ “Four days, at the longest. I have to be back to work on Monday.” _

A sigh.  _ “It’ll take me awhile to make enough to fill two cases, and I’ll have to put in another order for bottles. If you don’t mind departing later in the day there might be enough time for Prompto and I to whip something up for you. This particular potion has to sit for long periods of time.” _

_ “Do you mind if I join you for your brewing sessions? It’d be nice to see Prompto in his working capacity.” _

It was then that Prompto reached for the knob. It was cold in his hand, chilling his fingers to the touch. He shivered, lips pursing as his wrist turned and the door slowly clicked open.

Sania was standing, eyes turning from Ignis to Prompto in an instant, lips caught in a guilty slant.

Ignis was sitting, reclining in his chair the way he did when he was too tired to sit up straight. His mouth was a thin line. He didn’t look up. It seemed he knew better.

Hands nervously clasping at his back, warm on cold, Prompto shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I was listening in.”

“Well, at least you’re honest about it,” Sania drawled, waving him over.

Prompto stepped forward, trying not to flinch at the cold hardwood of the main floor as he moved from rough carpet.

Drawing her son into her arms, Sania pressed a kiss to his forehead before holding him away from her, grinning wide. “Look at my boy. Growing so tall.”

Planting his hands on the table, Ignis rose from his chair with a labored groan. “I’ll go begin preparations for the potions.”

Dark brows furrowed at the announcement. “Now?” she gasped, incredulous. “But it’s nearly midnight!”

“Yes, well…” He trailed off, gaze flicking to Prompto, then back to Sania as his fingers rose and adjusted his glasses. “Sleep is…” he continued with rushed futility. A soft sigh eased through his lips, and his eyes fluttered gently shut before he offered a soft, “I’m a bit wound up at the moment. It’ll be difficult to sleep.”

Sania’s chest swelled before she huffed a quiet laugh, eyes flicking quickly to the ceiling – to the upper floors – before turning back to Ignis. “If you say so.”

Watching the exchange, Prompto felt a niggling in the back on his head. Something like a reminder. Something like a realization. Something like a whisper of truth that escaped him whenever he began to chase it. He had missed something, he was sure. “Do you want any help?” he asked, taking a bold step forward and immediately regretting it.

The floor was  _ cold _ .

Ignis’ lips split in a nervous grin. “I’m quite alright,” he insisted warmly. “You should at least get some sleep.”

“But I can’t sleep, too.” The lie came easily. It slipped out with a breath before Prompto knew it was coming. It was an excuse more than anything. An excuse to spend time with Ignis. But what wasn’t an excuse to be with him?

The smile to follow was fond. Gone were the nerves. “To the basement we go, then,” he said plainly, stepping toward the shop door.

Prompto followed in his wake quickly, plodding after with a quick wave to his mother. They descended into the basement, Prompto’s hand keeping close to the rail as he took the steps two at a time in an attempt to keep stride with the older boy. “What was that about?” he asked nervously as they came to the landing.

Hands finding one of the larger cauldrons by the wall, Ignis dragged it into the center of the room with a grunt. The wheels squealed as he went, struggling to keep pace with his quick steps. Reaching for the hose that laid forgotten along the basement floor, he picked it up and reached for one of the larger buckets piled against a far bookshelf. It was only then that Ignis responded. “I was… distracted,” he began, voice barely above a whisper. “Your mother asked for a Grimoire to have a look at the ingredients to the concentration potions and I handed her an expense book instead.”

“An expense book?” Prompto quoted softly. “Is something wrong?”

“We’re not doing well,” was the short answer. At first that’s all he had to say. But as he came back to the cauldron with the bucket, he paused. His eyes found Prompto’s. Lashes fluttered. Eyes crinkled. Lips pursed and nostrils flared. Then, he spoke.

“We’re not doing well,” he admitted once more, voice low. “Business has been drying up. Gladiolus’ work in construction and your rent have been keeping us afloat for a while, now. Unsold batches have been expiring one after the other and it’s only a matter of time before the shop closes. If it weren’t for your contributions we would have gone under already.”

There was fear at the words. An icy hand that reached up Prompto’s back and took hold of his spine with frigid fingers. “But… how? We’ve been so busy.”

“It’s a small town, Prompto. People leave. Most of our larger accounts are the elderly, who pass away or live on fixed budgets. We’re busier than ever, but without those accounts we’re… We’re through.”

Blue eyes blinked at this. What would happen if the store closed down? Would they get jobs? Would he have to go back to Niflheim? What would happen to Ignis? The shop was his  _ life _ . “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked even as the questions flew about like angry bees whizzing from side to side. “This affects me. Us. All of us.”

“If your shop closes, Noctis’ shop closes. I’m out of a job. You’re out of a job. Gladiolus…” He paused, expression twisting softly. “Gladiolus would be fine, I suppose.”

“Mind if I join?”

All eyes turned to the top of the stairs. There, Sania stood, hip propped against the door frame as her arms wound about panes of glass. It was the ecosystem she had given Ignis. “While you boys are busy, I can set this up. I can’t sleep, either.”

Dropping the bucket beside the cauldron, Ignis motioned for Prompto to take over as he strode toward the corner of the room. “You need to plug it in, correct?”

“Ignis?” Prompto asked.

“Yes?”

“How many buckets?”

“Three.”

The stairs creaked as Sania made her way into the basement. “Yes, it needs to be plugged in,” she called. “There’s a heat lamp and a timer. Is that okay?”

“That should be fine,” Ignis agreed, hastily wiping down a section of the table. “Set it here.”

…

The world came in slow, at first. Bits and pieces. A cold floor. The gentle drape of cloth atop his chest. A breeze, bitter and sharp against a dry nose. As Prompto came to, he squinted against a sharp, blinding light that shone above him.

“I imagine Noctis can help you out with growing the plants in here.” It was Sania, voice barely a whisper in the relative silence of the room.

“Are you sure there’s enough dirt to allow thorough root growth?” Ignis, voice cracking around his words, asked just as softly. “It seems a bit shallow.”

“You’ll have to ask Noctis about that. But for now you should be fine.”

“What time is it?”

Upstairs, as if bidden, the grandfather clock chimed happily. It rang four times before falling silent, its echoes dying through the rest of the house.

A nervous laugh broke through the silence before Sania offered an embarrassed, “Oops?”

Rising up onto his elbows, Prompto squinted against the overhead light, peering across the room at the pair across the way, their giggles rising into the basement. “Did we finish the first phase of the potion?” he asked groggily, rubbing ineffectively at his eyes. He opened them to find amused gazes turned on him.

“We did,” Ignis informed him softly. “Now it’s just a matter of brew time. How did you sleep?”

“Um…” He paused, eyes turning shyly from theirs, only to linger on the fabric that had fallen from his chest. Black. Sleek. Patched.

Ignis’ vest.

“Good,” he said quietly, gaze firm on the article in his lap before he turned back to the pair by the newly-assembled ecosystem. “I slept pretty good.”

Ignis’ shirt was tight. But it was also old and obviously patched. He’d grown out of it but wore it from necessity. Like the patched cloak. Or tight pants. How long had it been since Ignis got new clothes?

Mouth dropping open in a wide yawn, Ignis heaved breath after breath until his chest strained at his shirt, pulling the buttons to the limit. “I’m about to hit the floor,” he groaned. “Do you think you could manage the shop on your own today?”

“Um… Sure,” Prompto agreed softly. “I can do it.”

…

Prompto laid perfectly still for the rest of the night, keeping each nervous shift as small as possible as Ignis snored up a storm at his side. It was a long while before the alarm went off. Most of the time was spent staring at the ceiling.

He was lying beside Ignis. In a bed. Together. With Ignis.

The newness of it felt as if it would never wear off.

But as the alarm blared through the room – the largest in the house, the Master Bedroom – their time came to an end.

But Prompto didn’t want it to end. Prompto wanted it to last forever. As much as he tried to keep his distance in the twin-sized bed, they kept brushing throughout what little of the night they had after their hours in the basement. Prompto was both amazed and horrified to learn that Ignis moved his legs in his sleep. Little, almost imperceptible things that slowly rode his sleep pants up his legs. It was when they were hunched up to his knees that it became a problem. That the long length of his newly bared, hairy leg dragged against Prompto’s arm that Prompto realized…

… it was torture.

“Good morning,” Ignis greeted, cool and calm and collected as always, voice a touch hoarse like it always was in the early hours.

“Morning,” Prompto squealed back, immediately making for the door.

“If you’re on your way out, could you check on Noctis for me? He often forgets his alarm.”

“Sure. No problem,” Prompto shot back without meeting his eyes, half sprinting out the door. He closed it carefully in his wake. Then it was just him in the hall.

Noctis’ room was easy to approach. Easy to knock on. Easier to listen to the sudden  _ thump _ to follow, paired with a pained groan.

Harder not to laugh.

Noctis opened the door before long, pale hand buried in his hair and a sigh on his lips. “This is new,” he grumbled.

New like his naked chest.

New like his scrawny figure.

New like the horrific scar that shone bright from the mirror at his back, displaying the pinkish twist of flesh that marred the length of his spine.

“Thanks for waking me, man,” Noctis said plainly. “I always forget to wind my alarm.”

“Uh, sure,” Prompto agreed. His gaze flicked from the mirror, then to Noctis’ face, then to the small altar in plain sight. To the small carved statue of a fox-like creature.

Carbuncle, god of healing.

In a moment of clarity, Prompto decided not to ask.

…

Ignis and Sania had already started on tea when Prompto came stumbling down the stairs with Aranea on his shoulder.

Gladiolus caught him on the way down, laughing. “Extra hungry this morning?” he joked with a wide grin.

“If only,” Aranea chirped.

“Tired,” Prompto admitted softly. “We were up all night making concentration potions.”

Ignis hummed. “If I recall correctly, you passed out two hours into said potion making.”

A flush rose high in pale cheeks. “Like you weren’t snoring the moment you got to bed! I’ve never heard anything so loud!”

Aranea whistled. “He snored? You didn’t say that!” Then, with a flap of her tail, she made immediately for Ignis’ shoulder.

Gladiolus gave a series of slow claps as Sania rose to her feet, pressing her lips firmly to Prompto’s cheek with a soft, “Be nice,” under her breath.

“How long did you guys sleep?” Gladiolus asked, leaning further back in his chair until it creaked dangerously.

“Two hours,” was her soft answer, returning to her chair with a sigh. She sipped her tea, eyebrows flying up within moments. A soft hum filled the room as her eyes flicked from Gladiolus to Ignis, then back. “I think we got everything we needed done, though. I’ll be headed back to sleep as soon as the shop opens.”

Stumbling down the stairs, Noctis’ jaw dropped open in a long, arduous yawn as he arrived on the main floor. “Morning,” he groaned. He grabbed his chair, flipped it around, and sat in it backwards. His chin rested on the back before his eyes slipped shut and he fell right back to sleep.

Right on cue, Ignis placed a cup of tea before his nose and snapped his fingers. “Up,” he ordered softly. “You’ve got to open shop soon.”

“No,” came the long, drawn out whine.

“Up,” he snapped again, turning back to the stove. His mouth moved in quiet murmurs over the pot, then turned to the next, pulling open the lid and peering in. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a bit of dried cherry for Aranea. “Looks like the rice is ready.”

Prompto blinked. “Rice for breakfast?” he asked.

Sania laughed. “Oh, right! You boys are from Insomnia, aren’t you?”

With a heavy nod, Gladiolus reached up to push some of his hair out of his face. It was getting longer. “Born and raised for Noctis and me. Ignis here hasn’t spent much time out of this shop, but his parents lived in Insomnia until he was five.”

“Noctis caught some extra fish the other day,” Ignis added softly even as Prompto’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Small ones. Perfect for breakfast.”

Prompto refrained from speaking.

Before long, Ignis was serving everything up, placing fish and a bowl of “miso soup” before everyone, along with a second bowl of rice.

Prompto didn’t know they had that many bowls.

“I wanted to thank you,” Ignis said when everyone picked up their…

… sticks?

Blue eyes stared down at his spoon and fork, and a feeling of being “foreign” washed over Prompto.

Aranea flitted up to the bowl of rice. She gave it a peck before turning to him with a nod of approval.

“For the shipment idea. It never occured to me to have a partner,” Ignis continued softly. “I’m looking forward to this.”

“As am I,” Sania announced warmly.

Aranea watched the exchange closely, then hopped about to face Prompto. “What are they talking about?” she asked.

“Sania Momma’s gonna sell Ignis’ potions in Niflheim,” he informed her quietly.

A tanned hand came into view, pushing his bowl of rice closer. “Eat,” Ignis insisted sharply. “You’ve been eating less than Aranea, lately.”

“I’m fine,” Prompto replied, the words bursting from him from force of habit.

Sania snorted. “If you want him to eat more, make spicier food.”

Green eyes turned on her, blinking owlishly, before turning back to Prompto. “Is that so?” he murmured, lips drawn into a soft frown. “Why didn’t you tell me you liked spicy food?”

Pink lips pursed. His eyes turned to the table, staring uncomfortably into the murky soup as Aranea sniffed at it. “It never came up,” he said, voice low. “I didn’t think it was important.”

…

Watching the shop was an Experience while half asleep. All too often Prompto would catch himself drifting off and falling asleep against the counter. More than once a customer woke him personally, tapping his shoulder and waking him.

It was a long day.

…

Lunch rolled around at noon, and Prompto was quick to close the shop, locking the door and flipping the sign before retreating further into the house. He had just made it to the fridge when Ignis and Sania stumbled down the stairs. “You guys took your time,” he noted.

“It was a good nap, thank you,” Ignis shot back humorously, smiling around a large, enthusiastic yawn.

The laugh that escaped Prompto was warm “How’d you sleep, mom?”

“Very well, thank you,” she replied easily, collapsing into the nearest chair.

As Ignis moved toward the fridge, Prompto stepped away, watching as the older boy tugged it open and began to peruse.

“Why don’t you take that jog you missed this morning?” Ignis suggested over his shoulder, reaching in to retrieve a jar of mayonnaise. “I’ll have lunch in the fridge ready for when you get back, and I’ll watch the shop for the rest of the day.”

Prompto blinked, eyes turning from his mother, then back to Ignis. “Are you sure?”

A tanned hand waved him on, fingers curling into large palms as they fell to his sides. “Go. Enjoy your mother. Take an extra long run. Go to the beach.”

In her chair, Sania laughed. “Me? Run? Oh, this is going to be hilarious.”

Again, Ignis waved them off. “Go,” he said. “Work up a sweat.”

…

The water was calm when Prompto approached; the waves small and gentle as they took off their shoes and began to walk down the sandy beach. A breeze kicked around their heads as the sun beat down from overhead. It was low-tide, the water kicking over only the darkest, hardest parts of the sand. And as they caught their breath, Prompto turned to his mother.

“Can you tell me how you and Cindy Momma met again?” he asked, eyebrows raised and eyes shining beneath the sun.

“Oh? Is someone in a romantic mood from sleeping with their boy?” she teased.

A flush rose high in his cheeks. “He’s not my boy.”

“But you wish he were.”

“ _ Mom, _ ” he groaned.

Sania smiled at him, then, dark eyes turning from him to the water, then to the sand at their feet before her lips fell open in a soft, “I was nineteen.”

Slowly, a grin spread across Prompto’s face.

“I wanted to get a leg up in my research. I was still in college. Still a little stupid, if you get my meaning,” she began, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the waves that caught around their ankles. “I would drive my car out to the middle of nowhere looking for lizards and scorpions and snakes.”

“And frogs,” Prompto put in.

Her eyes turned on him, sparkling with amusement. “Honey, the frogs weren’t until later.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Now,” she continued warmly, “at one point I got my car stuck in some nasty bit of mud. It had been raining for days, and it hadn’t occurred to me that maybe driving out INTO the mud wasn’t the best idea.”

Prompto nodded along, keeping an easy pace across the sand.

“But there I was, calling for a tow in the middle of nowhere, when this woman drives up who I swear has the brightest smile in all of Eos. And then she gets out of her car and I’m just about ready to cry. I hadn’t seen a woman that beautiful in years.”

“But it wasn’t just her body, right?”

Her eyebrows shot up, and she fixed him with a dry look. “Prompto, she got me out of that mud in five minutes flat. Of course it wasn’t just her body. I’d met a literal angel with magic at the end of the winch.”

Prompto grinned wide.

Turning her attention back in front of her, the woman continued with a high, “So here I was, a mere mortal before this dashing older woman – she was twenty-four at the time – and I was in  _ awe _ . She brought me back to the garage and let me take a shower because, let you tell you, I was soaked through. To the BONE. She dried my clothes and made sure I had a meal in me, and then sent me on my way. So I went home. Drove all the way back to the city and thought fondly of the whole experience.”

“Then you went back.”

“Yup,” she agreed, popping the P. “A year later I went back to look for more snakes. And there I was, having learned absolutely nothing, stuck in the mud. Twenty years old and none the wiser. I call a tow, and what do you know? Cindy shows up to save the day. I just about die when I see her. She was wearing these coveralls and had some grease on her cheek. I found out later that she had rushed right out of a tune-up to help me. She didn’t let on at all how happy she was to see me, though. Although she didn’t scold me about getting stuck in the mud again. She even greeted me by name.

“I was blown away. ‘She remembers me!’ I thought. I didn’t think I’d ever been that happy before. Not even for a new specimen or when I was being praised for hard work. Her smile made me feel like I was home way out in the middle of nowhere. And it was at that moment that I realized I didn’t have a chance.”

“But you did have a chance.”

“Boy, I pined over that woman for a  _ two years _ . You can’t even  _ imagine _ .”

Prompto paused to kick a bit of sand, eyes firm on the ground as he offered a scoffed, “Well, I’ve got two and a half under my belt so I think I have a better idea than you do.”

Sania gasped in mock shock. “Since when did you get so snappy? And...” She paused, eyes turning to her son. “Do you really think you feel that way about him?”

He was quiet for a long time before speaking. Before admitting a soft, “Ignis taught me how to make a potion that emulates your feelings, tried it, and labeled it ‘First Love.’”

Nothing was said for a long time, with the crash of the waves around their ankles, their shine, their knees the only thing to make them move. Collapsing onto powdery sand, Sania stared out at the ocean and offered a soft, “If he labeled it accurately, it must mean he knows what it feels like.”

Joining his mother on the ground, Prompto wrapped his arms around his wet knees as he fought back a wave of nausea. He didn’t know how to feel about that. “Can you keep telling the story, now?” he asked. “Sorry for interrupting.”

Sania scooted over, throwing an arm around his shoulder and holding him tight to her side. She hummed as his head fell to her shoulder. Hummed as the waves grew closer and closer. “After she got me all showered and fed, she sent me on my way. And me? I just kept going back. Once a month, like clockwork, I would find a way to get myself caught in the mud. Not entirely on purpose, mind you. I think she caught on six months in, but she didn’t say anything about it. It was around my twenty-first birthday that after my shower she offered to take me out to dinner.”

Prompto smiled. “And you got sick.”

“ _ Boy _ , did I get sick! It was all vegetables! That woman loves her salads, you hear me?” she complained loudly. “My body needs  _ calories _ .  _ Meat _ . I sucked it up and pretended to be fine. But then I stayed too late and spent the night, and she  _ knew _ . I was sicker than a dog. She felt so bad.”

“And then-”

“Prom-pom, just  _ who _ is telling this story?”

“You are.”

“Glad we’ve settled that. Now, as I was saying…” She cleared her throat. “And then I kissed her. I kissed her like I was burning up. Which I was. I had a fever. It was pretty bad if I’m being honest.”

“Cindy Momma tells it better.”

Sania gasped. “Mind your mouth!”

Prompto stuck his tongue out.

“Well,  _ fine _ . If you’re going to be  _ that _ way, here’s the rest of your story. I puked all over her boots, she took me to her place, and she cared for me until I was better. We lived happily ever after, moved halfway between our jobs, and adopted your silly butt. The end.”

Prompto let the silence settle before announcing, “Cindy Momma tells it better.”

Sania threw her arms up. “There’s no pleasing you today.”

“I love you, mom.”

Sania laughed, and it was a low sound. A content sound. “Awe,” she cooed, giving his shoulders an extra squeeze. “I love you, too, baby.”

…

The week passed quickly, and all-too-soon Sania was gathering her things in her bags.

Sitting on the bed, occasionally glancing to Noctis reading comics in the corner, Prompto kicked his legs nervously. “So when, uh…” He cleared his throat. “When do you think you’ll be able to visit again?”

“I'm not sure, honey,” she answered honestly, rolling a pair of pants and shoving them deep in the depths of her oversized suitcase. “I had to put this time in six months in advance. Getting any PTO has been a nightmare lately with the new account. There's too much work to go around.”

Leaning forward, Prompto breathed a long sigh. “I miss you guys, though,” he complained softly.

“Then come and visit us, silly,” she fired back. “Cindy misses you terrible.”

Blue eyes immediately shot across the room to the corner, where Noctis seemed to be engrossed in his comic, then back to Sania.

Dark hands shot to cover her mouth, shocked. “Oh, right,” she whispered.

Prompto frowned, then shook his head. “I miss her too,” he admitted softly.

Glancing toward Noctis, then back to her son, Sania smiled softly. “Well, even if you visit I’ll be stuck at work. The garage just expanded, too. I’ve plugged more overtime in the last two months than I have in the last year.”

“I can see about visiting,” he offered anyway. “I did the math with those maps you gave me. Figured out it’s faster to fly than take the train. Although… it would be at top speed for a day and a half straight so I’m not sure how much faster it’d be. Especially since I can’t fly that high.”

She rolled her eyes, waving off the suggestion with a flap of her hand. “Don’t you worry about that. Take the train, honey.”

His lips twisted down, and he breathed a soft, “But I don’t have enough money to take the train.”

“Then I’ll send you the money, hon,” she drawled back, leaning back as if insulted. “What’s the point of having a fancy job with nowhere to shove the money? C and I were saving for you to go to  _ college _ ,” she insisted. Then, leaning forward, she continued with a sharp, “but since you became so serious about being a witch that money’s just  _ sitting _ there accumulating interest. I doubt we’ll ever use it for its intended use at this point. Why don’t you use it for train tickets and around the shop?”

Prompto shrunk into the bed, shoulders drawing in and face falling. “I’m fine.”

Sania was about to speak. Was about to open her mouth to insist that the money was his, only to pause. “I almost forgot,” she said instead, reaching for her purse and pulling it close. Hands diving in, she pulled out a multitude of orange bottles. “I’ve got your prescriptions. C forgot to put them in the last care package.”

Pale hands snatched them up quickly, blue eyes snapping to the boy across the room.

“Do you need therapy again?” she asked, voice low.

“I’m in a pretty good place right now,” he answered in a whisper. “Thanks, though.”

“Ready to go?” Gladiolus called up the stairs.

Prompto’s eyes locked with his mother’s, following them as she zipped up her bag and rose to her feet.

“Coming,” she called.

He was up the stairs in a second, lifting her bag effortlessly and hoisting it down the stairs.

It felt like seconds before Prompto was standing outside with the others, waving her off. Seconds before she kissed him goodbye and climbed into the car. Seconds before she drove off. And then she was gone and he already missed her.

A hand found his, drawing his attention back. Blue eyes met blue.

Noctis seemed uncommonly serious in that moment as he said, “I wanna show you something.”

Prompto could only follow as his hand was tugged into the house, then up to the second floor. The boards creaked beneath their feet, and it all seemed to be going so quickly.

Noctis’ room was even messier than Prompto last saw it. It was little more than a sty, clothes strewn across the floor until it was no longer visible. He motioned toward the bed, and Prompto took a seat as carefully as he could between grimoires and the occasional sheathed athame left out between piles of clothes.

The altar to Carbuncle was as clean as ever.

“I tried not to listen in to everything you and your mom were saying,” he began.

A tendril of fear shot up Prompto’s spine.

“... but I couldn’t help but hear most of what was going on.”

Breath was short. Panic began to settle.

“Go ahead. Take a look.”

There were bottles. Orange bottles.

Prompto reached forward, taking them slowly. What…

“Go ahead. Look at them closer. Read the labels,” Noctis insisted.

_ Take one tablet by mouth daily for Depression. _

He read the label again. Then again. And again. “You have depression,” he realized aloud. “I didn’t know you had depression.”

“It’s only fair you know, since I… Since I know about you, now.”

“You didn’t have to tell me.”

“I wanted to,” was the fast reply. “I’ve wanted to for a while, now.”

Slowly, Prompto brought his gaze up a slim body. Past narrow shoulders and a thin neck. Then, finally, his gaze locked with Noctis’. “Thanks. For telling me, that is.”

Slowly, Noctis nodded. “I’m glad I could tell you.”


	7. Risk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Arnaud for helping this chapter reach fruition. Also thanks to literally everyone who reviewed and gave me the confidence to type this up in time for a weekly update. This is dedicated to you guys.

Prompto was sixteen when Noctis leaned across the kitchen table and asked him, “Hey, Prompto, wanna go collect fertilizer with me?”

Turning his attention up from his plate, he stared at Noctis skeptically. “Collect fertilizer?” he quoted softly.

“Yeah, man. Have you seen the price of chemical fertilizer? It’s too expensive,” he complained in response.

Prompto glanced from side to side, taking in Ignis and Gladiolus, who apparently had nothing to say on the matter and remained buried face-first in their soup. “Um… Okay?” he agreed quietly. “What will we be doing?”

The grin Noctis fixed him with at that moment was wide and excited. “Fishing,” he said like it wasn’t the single-most boring thing on the planet.

…

Immediately after dinner, they strapped a tackle box and a cooler to Noctis’ broom and headed out. The sun hung low in the sky. A sharp spring breeze shot about their heads, throwing their hair in every direction as they made their way away from the shop.

“So how is fishing fertilizer collection?” Prompto asked as they made their way down a steep hill, holding onto the broom floating between them for balance.

“Fish feed the soil well,” was the initial response as Noctis grappled with the handle himself, attempting not to slip on a section of gravel. “A lot of people argue that chicken poop is better, but I don’t want to deal with that.”

At their side, a car struggled up the hill at a snail’s pace.

“So what makes chicken poop so much better?”

“Dude, how am I supposed to know? I don’t do science stuff with animal manure.”

They stumbled down the road together until they reached the beach. The sand was hot beneath their shoes, seeping through the soles until their feet were comfortably warm.

Prompto followed Noctis down the beach, around some rocks, and even further down until they came across an old, weathered dock. The pillars were green, covered in slime and moss. The walk itself had been recently cared for, clear of debris or sand. But as they stepped out onto the aging boards, Prompto couldn’t help the sudden bout of fear that came with each creaky footfall. What if the boards broke? What if something snapped and he fell into the ocean?

It was a short while before they arrived at the end of the dock, Noctis unloading the tackle box and handing Prompto a rod. “It’s telescoping, like your old broom,” he announced proudly. “Go ahead. Pull it out.”

Pale hands were quick to comply, extending each little section until it stood taller than he did. “This is nice,” he noticed, looking over the pole.

“My dad got it for me,” Noctis explained without a moment’s hesitation. “That one was for my fourteenth birthday. And  _ this _ one…” He paused, reaching into the tackle box to produce another collapsed pole. He was quick to extend it, grabbing each section by their ceramic guides and dragging them out until the whole of it stood at about eight feet long. “This was for my seventeenth, last week.”

Prompto glanced between the rods, confused. “Yours looks different from this one.”

“It’s a different material,” he answered quickly. “The one you’re holding is plexiglass. This? This is  _ graphite _ .” It wasn’t long before they settled onto the dock. Before Noctis showed him how to cast and reel and pin bait to the hook; something he hadn’t done in years. Wasn’t long before they caught a fish. Wasn’t long before Noctis breathed a sigh and asked, “Ever feel like you’re avoiding your fate?”

Prompto glanced up from the water to peer at his friend through the glare of the setting sun. His lips pursed before he turned his gaze back to the ocean. “Not really,” he admitted quietly. “I just figure it’ll happen someday.”

“... So you believe in fate, then?”

Pale eyebrows arched, and blue eyes turned on blue. “I mean…” He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

“Well…” Noctis’ mouth pursed, and he turned his attention back to the ocean. A tongue snuck out to wet dry lips before he continued, voice low and nervous. “If you want someone to pray to, there’s always Zodiark, lord of fates.”

Slowly, Prompto nodded.

“Like, I  _ know _ you’re a Christian and everything,” he added, eyes flicking from the water to his companion, then back. He wiped sweaty palms on dark jeans one after the other, switching the pole between his hands. “It’s just, like… an option.”

The smile to follow the words was small, but sincere. “Thanks, man.”

Noctis grinned in response, tugging at the line a bit before settling the pole between his knees.

“You know,” Prompto began, voice soft, “I’ve actually…” He trailed off, unsure.

Reaching out, Noctis gave his arm a light, playful swat. “Go on, man. Don’t hold out on me. What’s up?”

Prompto was quiet for a moment, hands growing tight around the pole before he coughed softly and continued. “To be completely honest, I’ve been praying to Zodiark for a while, now.”

As the admission hit the air, Noctis’ eyes went wide. As the silence stretched, he said nothing. Instead his gaze turned to the water, and his hands returned to the padded handle of his fishing pole.

“I was never…” Prompto paused, clearing his throat. “... never much of a Christian, anyways. You know. So, like… I guess it was only a matter of time.”

“I’m glad.”

Prompto nearly jumped at the words. Soft, delicate things that hung between them and filled the air with a complex warmth that flooded him to his toes. “Really?” he asked. “I’m not even sure I’m praying right.”

“If it works for you, it can’t be wrong,” was the shockingly simple affirmation. “As long as you’re happy with the way you practice and no one gets hurt, you’re good.”

It was at that moment that something tugged at Prompto’s line, and they both scrambled into action.

…

In the end, they caught a rock barramundi and a barrelfish. The cooler was loaded onto the broom and strapped to the tackle box before they began to make their way up the hill once more.

“So is two fish a good haul?” Prompto wheezed, one hand on the broom, the other clutching his chest.

“Yeah,” Noctis gasped back. “This is enough fertilizer for a few weeks.” The rest of the hill was spent in silence, filled with the occasional gasp and pained creak of sneakers as they scaled the steep road. But as they cleared the top, Noctis breathed a high, “I really need a better route.”

“Why don’t you just fly?” Prompto suggested dryly.

“Fish don’t like it,” was the quick reply. “They start to thrash.”

Prompto laughed.

The sun had long since set, and the summer breeze had turned cold, a hint of the approaching autumn.

Prompto shivered inside his vest, arms wrapping around himself. “We should get going,” he suggested. “We probably missed dinner.”

“Probably.”

The door was open when they arrived, Ignis standing on the porch with his neck craned toward them. “You took your own sweet time.”

“You  _ told _ me to distract him.”

Prompto stared.

Ignis breathed a sigh. “Not until ten, I didn’t. You boys will barely have time to clean up and eat before she arrives.”

“It’s ten?” Noctis sputtered.

“Before who arrives?” Prompto asked. “What do we have to clean up for?”

Striding in from the second level, Gladiolus hefted a large clear container of candles up to his chest with nothing more than a bare flex of his impressive biceps. “Iggy, where are we doing this?”

“The basement,” he replied quickly. “I’ve already cleared away most of the floor space. I need those placed in the most even circle you can give me. I’ll be down with the cushions momentarily. And make sure the window is open!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gladiolus agreed quietly, lugging the container toward the shop door. “Circle. Got it.”

“What are we doing?” Prompto asked as the oldest boy disappeared.

Ignis’ lips pursed before he nodded slowly. “I supposed now would be a good time to tell you.”

“It’s fortune telling,” Noctis blurted monotonously.

“Noctis!” Ignis scolded.

“What? You were going to take forever to get around to it!”

Ignis breathed another sigh – longer, put-upon – before turning back to Prompto with a wan smile. “A good friend of ours, Gentiana, will be passing through town soon. It was decided that the four of us would receive readings from her since it’s been so long.”

“Readings?” Prompto quoted, unsure. “What kind of readings?”

“The future,” Noctis butted in once more. “Or the past. Whatever. Depends on what you ask.”

Light blue eyes blinked, unsure. “What I…” His eyebrows furrowed. “I can ask questions about my future?”

“Yes,” Ignis replied easily. “However, it’s important to keep in mind that Gentiana’s readings are nothing like Lunafreya’s visions. They’re vague and rarely hold the answers you’re looking for.”

Hoisting the cooler suddenly, Noctis announced, “Well, these babies aren’t going to process themselves. I’ll be back,” before heading straight for the rear hallway, leaving the others alone.

Ignis went to the fridge, then, pulling out a small bit of tupperware and popping it open. “Close the door, would you?” he requested softly.

Prompto jumped, turning around sharply with a rushed, “Oh, right.” It closed quickly, and then they were alone with  _ privacy _ . Slowly, he turned to face Ignis.

Tapping a spoon against the tupperware, the older boy – older man, perhaps? He was getting to that age – motioned for Prompto to take a seat. “Go ahead,” he suggested, stepping back toward the stove. “Eat.”

Prompto sat obediently, snatching up the spoon and taking a small bite of the stew before him.

Leaning back against the counter, elbows braced against the cheap pressed wood, Ignis asked, “Do you know if you have any questions for her?”

He chose to chew instead of replying right off the bat, jaw working at the hunk of beef at a snail’s pace. But eventually, after a long, unusually tense bout of silence, he found there was nothing left to chew. “I’m not sure,” he answered then, shoving another spoonful of stew into his mouth.

Ignis’ smile was amused, rising into his cheeks and pinching his eyes. “Well, if you come up with something, I might advise you to run it by me before you submit it to Gentiana. There are far too many faux pas to explain in an hour. Otherwise, if you don’t come up with anything she may simply service you with an old fashioned luck reading.”

Swallowing quickly, Prompto asked a quiet, “Luck? What do you mean?”

Ignis’ smile faltered. Slowly, he reached up to push his glasses into place, lips pursing contemplatively. “I suppose…” He paused, hand falling from his face like the tired sigh from his lips. “I’m afraid my expertise lies far outside the lines of Future Telling and such,” he admitted softly. “Gladiolus may be better equipped to answer that sort of question.”

“Then…” Prompto paused, eyes drifting to his stew before they snapped back to Ignis. “What are you going to ask?”

“Me?” he repeated, perplexed. A finger found his chin, and he gave a thoughtful hum. “I’ll likely ask after the success of the shop.”

“But sales in Niflheim are going so well. It’s already doing good,” Prompto insisted. “What are you really going to ask?”

“I’m not sure I have any other questions,” came the amused reply.

“What about love?” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it, barrelling through the air as his cheeks warmed.

Ignis’ face held a similar flush as his eyes turned down to meet Prompto’s, mouth opening and closing several times before he spoke. “I’ve never been particularly interested,” he informed him softly, gaze turning quickly to the floor before shooting up once more to hold Prompto’s. “If it works out, it works out. I’m honestly too absorbed in my work for a family. Children would be too much for me.”

Pale eyebrows arched in open surprise. “You don’t want kids?”

A snort was the initial reply, followed by a dry, “I’d make a poor father.”

“I think you’d make an excellent father.”

Ignis smiled, then. It was a drawn thing; tight and uncomfortable. “No,” he disagreed, voice firm. “I imagine I would make an excellent  _ lover _ , but not a father.” He paused, shaking his head, eyes turning to the floor. “No. Never a father.” Then, with careful, almost measured steps, he moved away from the counter and scaled the stairs to the second floor.

Watching him go, Prompto shrunk into his chair, not quite sure what to make of the words.

…

When eleven arrived Ignis was a flurry of motion. Everyone was quickly corralled into the basement – including a slightly fishy-smelling Noctis – and clustered around a circle of lit candles. In the center was a woman. Her eyes turned up at the corners, much like the other boys, and the irises were a deep brown; nearly black. Her dress seemed to be made all from one strip of fabric, wrapped around her body and tied in place with a wide strip and a bit of rope.

_ Kimono _ , Prompto’s brain supplied.

“I’ll begin with the eldest,” she announced, voice a deep, almost melodic sound. “Gladiolus, would you come here?”

Stepping past the circle of candles, Gladiolus moved before the woman, settling himself on the open cushion. Folding his legs beneath him, he sat ramrod straight, then bowed to the woman before him. It was a solid thing. It didn’t shake at all, and his hands were balled against his knees. “Thank you very much,” he said, voice firm.

“And to you,” she replied, bowing low, then slowly drew back up. Her movements were graceful. Almost like a dance. Even as she reached for the cards at her side she appeared the picture of femininity, though it was no form Prompto had ever been familiar with. “You are twenty now, correct?”

The nod to follow was quick; nervous.

She was both power and grace as she collected the cards, offering them to Gladiolus with both hands. “Your question?” she asked.

He took them quickly, shuffling the cards carefully before handing them back to her. “A general luck reading will do.”

Painted lips split in the smallest of grins before the expression was suddenly gone. Placing the cards before her on the freshly swept basement floor, Gentiana selected three cards from the top of the pile and placed them face down between them. Then, holding one long sleeve off the floor with her free hand, she reached for the first card and flipped it. “Inverted Knight of Pentacles,” she began softly. “You feel stuck. This is obviously a reference to this rut you’ve found yourself in.”

Gladiolus snorted. “Is that what we’re calling it, now?”

Reaching for the second card, she turned it over slowly. The smile on her lips was visible only for a short moment before it was schooled into neutrality. “Inverted Five of Pentacles. Pentacles again,” she observed. “You will find an end to your dry spell. Whether this is spiritual or financial should be obvious to you.”

Lips pursed at this, and lighter brown eyes turned to the cards, narrowed in disbelief.

Finally, the third card was flipped. “Upright Eight of Swords,” she read softly. “You will be limited on your beliefs. You may be tested some time in the future. Try to expand your mind and accept them, if you can.”

Gladiolus nodded, lips twisting uncomfortably. His mouth remained firmly shut. Instead he bowed once more, giving a formal, “Thank you.”

“You are welcome,” she replied with her own bow.

Rising slowly, the man staggered to his feet and stepped out of the circle.

“Ignis,” she called.

Ignis rose, stepping into the circle and quickly taking the empty cushion. He, too, folded his legs beneath him, though his posture didn’t appear as severe. Perhaps it was practice. Perhaps it was long hours spent over a cauldron with a rigid back.

Perhaps it was because Prompto wasn’t used to seeing him slouch, unlike Gladiolus.

“It’s a pleasure to have you in our home,” Ignis said calmly as his arm swept up to his stomach and he gave a languid, easy bow.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Gentiana replied, bending forward in her own.

Would Prompto have to bow?

Panic set in.

Reaching quickly for the cards, she passed them to the man before her, nodding politely.

Ignis took them, shuffling them carefully before handing them back. “I’d like to ask about the shop,” he informed her firmly, voice carrying easily through the room.

“Of course you would,” she replied easily, cheek twitching as she placed the deck on the floor. Reaching for the cards, she selected the top three and placed them equidistant apart between them. “Are you ready?” she asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” he replied. His shoulders had gone tense, bunching together as his hands clenched tightly on his thighs.

Her fingers drew toward the first card, flipping it casually over. Rising up into a proper sitting position, her free hand fall away from her sleeve as she announced, “Inverse Eight of Pentacles. You’re trying too hard to be perfect.”

“Am I?” Ignis asked, eyes flitting from the woman to the revealed card before him.

“Try to relax as much as you can. Your friends will be happy to share your burden,” she insisted, bending forward to rest her hand on the next card. “We perhaps already know the next card.”

“The Upright Tower,” Ignis laughed even as the card was flipped.

Prompto leaned forward, straining to catch sight of the card.

“The Tower,” Gentiana said in agreement. “Sudden change. Perhaps a disaster or two. And your third card…” She paused as it was flipped, clutching her sleeve tightly. It was then that a smile overtook her face. When her lips broke in a bright grin that touched even her eyes. “Upright Three of Wands,” she read warmly. Her eyes turned to him, then, shining with something like joy. “You’re preparing for your future!”

Ignis’ smile was sheepish. Embarrassed. Reaching up, he casually adjusted his glasses.

The next words, Prompto couldn’t quite catch. They were followed by bows, and then Ignis got up off the cushion and made his way back to their small claimed corner of the room. This time he sat beside Prompto, legs crossing on the floor.

“Was it what you were hoping for?” Prompto asked.

“I suppose you could say no news is good news,” was Ignis’ soft reply.

“Noctis,” Gentiana called.

“Guess that’s me,” Noctis drawled, hopping to his feet. He slumped his way over to the circle, stepping carefully over the candles before plopping down on the cushion and offering his fist.

Much to Prompto’s surprise, the woman placed her own fist against his and bumped them together.

They both made explosion sounds with their mouths.

The cards were exchanged quickly, and perhaps a silent understanding, as well. Gentiana placed them before her, settling each of the top three cards between them. “Upright Three of Swords,” she read.

On Ignis’ other side, Gladiolus stiffened.

A silence settled through the room, broken only by the distant cry of crickets through the open window.

Prompto watched in shock as Gentiana reached forward, taking Noctis’ hand in hers and holding it steady as it began to gently shake. Slowly, fingers unclenched from a pale palm, and Noctis nodded for her to continue.

“The World,” she said, turning over the next card. “There is travel in your future.”

Noctis’ lips pursed.

Reaching for the third card, Gentiana placed it quickly with a soft smile. “King of Swords,” she said after a beat of silence. “Authority and clear thinking is in your future.”

And with that Noctis stood, striding out of the circle without another word. His expression was tense. His shoulders were bunched. Mouth twisted into a firm, angry line, he plopped down on Prompto’s other side with a sharp sigh.

“Prompto,” Gentiana called.

Prompto shrunk.

A hand settled on his shoulder, warm and encouraging. “Go ahead,” Ignis insisted softly. “She’s waiting.”

“Can you guys, like… leave for mine?” Prompto asked.

There was silence for a moment before one after the other the boys rose to their feet.

“Not a problem,” Noctis told him, nudging a thin leg with his foot as he passed.

Prompto offered him a nervous smile in reply, and then… Well, then he and Gentiana were alone, and he didn’t feel any better. Stumbling to his feet, Prompto stepped over the ring of candles carefully. It was warm in the circle. Warmer than he expected with the chill night breeze blowing in from the window.

Without a bow, Gentiana went straight for the cards, offering them to him.

Collapsing onto the cushion, he took them quickly, attempting to shuffle them. They were larger than playing cards. They attempted to slip from his fingers multiple times. He spent a long time working on them, questions mounting in his head. Was he doing this right? Did he shuffle them enough? What was his fortune going to be?

“Do you have a question?”

Prompto’s head shot up as he jumped, his eyes landing on Gentiana with a touch of fear. “Um… Yeah,” he said.

“Good,” she whispered. “Hold it in your head while you shuffle. Let it fill you up. Then, when you think you’re ready, hand them back to me.”

He could have cried, but the tears never came. Instead he turned to the cards. He shuffled them quickly after that, then handed them over to her.

The smile on her lips was disarming, even if it didn’t reach her eyes. “And your question?”

“Huh? Oh. Right. I was wondering…” He paused to clear the sudden lump in his throat.

“Yes?”

“I just… I wanna know,” he began softly, eyes turning down to his knees. His hands were clenched, much like all the other boys’ had been. Why was the future so scary? “I wanna know if the person I love will ever love me back.”

Her smile was melancholy, but it reached her eyes at last. “Complicated question,” she said slowly, then reached for the first card. Then the second. Then the third.

Prompto watched in shock as they were all revealed, eyes drawn to the crumbling tower in the center of it all.

“Upright Six of Cups,” she read, pointing to the first card. “The Tower,” she continued, finger drifting over the card his gaze had fixed on. “And finally, the Upright Ten of Cups.” Her smile turned warm. Even fond.

“What does it mean?” Prompto asked, leaning forward onto his hands. His attention turned to the woman before him, locking on her dark eyes as she continued to smile down at the floor. “The Tower – that’s bad, right?”

“It tells a story,” she informed him softly, pointing to the first card. “First of a reunion,” she began, finger drifting to the final card, “then of… perhaps harmony.”

His eyebrows drew sharply together. “But what about The Tower?”

It was then that her eyes drew up. That her face turned towards him and her cheeks flushed with color. “You are obvious in your affections for him.”

A rock plummeted through Prompto’s stomach, and he fought back a physical wave of nausea as it settled inside him like a curse. “What?”

“‘The Tower’ stands for Ignis Scientia,” she informed him quietly.

“What?” he squeaked again, voice cutting out halfway through the word.

Collecting her cards, Gentiana shook her head. “It is not so uncommon in Altissia for a man to love another man,” she stated simply.

Prompto followed her with his gaze, eyes wide with shock.

“Here, of course, it is another story,” she continued, placing the deck in a small bag before cinching it tight. Hanging it from her wrist, her dark eyes settled on his, drawing him in. Swallowing him. “Be careful,” she warned. “Be cautious. Do not let others know until you are sure they are to be trust. Our life is a precarious one.”

“Is that my future?”

“That is your reality,” she denied quietly with the smallest shake of her head, expression grim. It was like this – lips turned down and standing tall above him – that she bent forward and pressed one hand against the curve of his cheek, drawing his face up to get a proper look at him. “You are a beautiful boy,” she told him softly, “sure to become a beautiful man. I hope he sees that someday.”

With that she drew away, turning in place and stepping off the cushion. Her shoes clacked against the concrete floor. They were wooden sandals unlike anything Prompto had ever seen, with socks indented between the largest toes for the thong to slide between them. “I’d better get moving,” she announced, bending forward to blow out a section of the candles before stepping carefully over them. As she cleared them, her hands immediately went to her dress, smoothing it down.

By the time Prompto was done blowing out the rest of the candles she had cleared the stairs, and the distant sound of conversation floated through the room, muffled through the closed basement door. He scaled the stairs quickly, tugging the door open.

“Is this what you described in your letter?” Gentiana asked, curious. She turned over a small, mostly empty vial in her hands before placing it in a small velvet box. It closed with a snap.

“A few drops of first love, barren of lust,” Ignis replied quickly, smiling wide.

“How wonderful,” she cooed. “May I ask who made this?”

“That’s a bit…” Ignis flushed, eyes flicking quickly to Prompto, then Gentiana. “That might be private. I wouldn’t want to-”

“I made it,” Prompto volunteered quickly.

Dark eyes turned on him, along with a wide smile. “Of course you did,” she said, stepping forward to wrap him in a tight hug.

He went rigid, unsure how to react.

Leaning forward, her lips dragged against the curve of his ear as she whispered, “You’re going to be very happy, Prompto.”

Mind reeling, he watched her draw away. Watched her exchange farewells with Ignis before making her way to the broom in the corner laden with boxes. She was gone in minutes, out the door and rising over the city, and Prompto found he could finally breathe.

“Don’t forget,” Ignis reminded him as he locked up the shop. “Four AM wake up call tomorrow. We’ve got that batch of Concentration Potions to prepare.”

Prompto nodded along, drifting into the rest of the house before half falling up the stairs.

He was going to be… happy?

…

Prompto startled awake to the steady, insistant pounding of a fist on his bedroom door. Rolling out of bed, he thumped onto the floor with a groan. Reaching up, he grabbed for his alarm clock, staring at it skeptically.

4:30AM. He was late.

Adrenaline hit him like a truck. He was on his feet in seconds, half falling down the stairs to wrench open his bedroom door, nearly slamming it into the body on the other side.

Stepping casually out of the way, Ignis leveled him with an amused, “Did your alarm go off?”

“I didn’t set it,” Prompto admitted. Spinning on his heel, he sprinted back up the stairs, half tearing off his nightgown as he went. “Sorry. I’ll be down in just a second.”

“Be careful on the stairs,” Ignis insisted suddenly. “Don’t run. What if you fall?”

“I’ll be fine,” Prompto squeaked, tugging on a pair of jeans. Snatching a shirt from his drawer, he slammed the dresser shut and hopped back toward the stairs. “I’m not gonna f-” He fell.

The next few moments seemed to happen in slow motion, with Ignis’ eyes widening mere steps away as Prompto’s arms flailed out in search of the railing. They met somewhere in the middle, arms tangled and breath sharp in the air.

“What did I say?” Ignis wheezed.

Prompto puffed a scared, “No running on the stairs.”

“Good. Now, are you awake?”

Pale hair flopped into blue eyes as he nodded quickly. “Yup,” he agreed. “Definitely awake.”

“Good. I’m going to make some coffee.”

Prompto allowed himself to be righted, enjoying for a moment the feeling of strong arms around him. Stepping quickly after Ignis, he waited until he was on flat ground before pulling on his shirt. “Tell me again how you got into coffee,” he requested softly.

Ignis laughed.

“What?”

“Is this something you’re going to do, now?” Ignis asked. “This has got to be the fifth time you’ve requested this same story.” Striding down the second set of stairs, he opened the door to the main floor with a scoff. “It cannot be as interesting as you think.”

“Sixth,” Prompto corrected, following close behind to plop in a chair. He watched Ignis bustle about the kitchen, reaching for a cone, a filter, the beans, a mug, and the coffee grinder. “I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve asked moms how they met.”

Ignis hummed. It was a curious sound. “How  _ are _ your mothers?” he requested, voice almost painfully sincere.

“Cindy momma just rebuilt a classic engine and Sania momma is finally over her cold. I’m thinking of going to visit them soon. I have enough money saved that the train tickets wouldn’t eat too much of my bank account.”

“They  _ are _ expensive,” Ignis agreed. “Speaking of expensive…” Setting the beans down, he turned to face Prompto, adjusting his glasses. “How about when you go, you bring the shipment with you?” he suggested.

On the stove, the kettle began to whistle, piercing the conversation.

Ignis was quick to move it off the burner, calling over his shoulder, “It would cut down on costs for the store and get there faster. I could even pitch some of the money I’d be saving toward your ticket fee.”

“You don’t have to.”

Head craning to peer over his shoulder, Ignis fixed him with a look. “Prompto, you do realize you’d be doing me a favor, correct?”

For a second he could only sputter. Favor? “I…” he squeaked, only to nod his head quickly. “Alright.”

“Excellent,” Ignis murmured as he poured the beans into his grinder and began to wind the handle.

…

It was three days later – a rainy Tuesday where the rain came in sheets and the customers came in fours – when the phone call came. It was like any other. The phone rang, Prompto half stumbled to the cash register, and he picked up the receiver with a bright, “Titan’s Tonics. How may I help you?”

“ _ Hello. I’m looking for Noctis Caelum. Is he available? _ ”

“Uh…” Glancing around the shop to make sure it was empty, he hummed an affirmative. “I’ll check. Do you mind waiting a moment?”

“ _ Not at all. _ ”

Placing the phone carefully on the counter, Prompto quickly locked the shop, placing a “Back soon” sign in the front window before heading through the door to the rest of the house. He passed quickly through the kitchen, then the hallway. As he stepped outside the late summer heat slapped him in the face. Trudging through the muggy back yard, he knocked quickly on the plant shop’s back door, opening it quickly to step inside. “Noctis?” he called.

“Yeah?” came the reply from deep within the shop. Near the front, the boy stood up from a circle of plants, covered in small leaves.

“You’ve got a phone call,” Prompto told him, motioning for him to follow.

A nod was the initial reply, followed by a hasty, “Yeah, sure. I’ll be right there. Just let me lock the door first.”

Prompto watched him bustle about the shop, closing the door, placing a sign, and nudging an ice cube sitting in a small orchid.

They both retreated out the back door together, venturing into the humid yard before making their way into the house. It wasn’t long before they were both in the store together, unlocking the door and picking up the phone.

“Noctis speaking,” he said almost cheerily. There was an almost energetic smile on his face, one that reached through his cheeks and into his eyes.

Then it dropped.

“What?” he asked, voice cracking.

Something was said on the other end of the line. Something that made him bury his face in his hands. Something that made him groan from deep within his chest. Something that made his cheeks flush red as tears budded at the corners of his eyes.

“But the doctor said he was fine,” he spat. “He said…”

Prompto tried to tune it out. He made himself busy, dusting bottles and straightening shelves. But as the conversation went on he caught snippets.

“...missed something…”

“...that’s his  _ job _ , you can’t tell me…”

“...have to get back to work.”

“...don’t have  _ time _ to go back. There’s no one to…”

“...forget it, then!”

As the phone slammed into its base, Prompto jumped, eyes turning to the boy across the room for the first time since the call had started. “Is everything alright?” he asked, hand going still against the allergy potion he had been dusting.

The laugh to fill the room was bitter. Angry. But beyond that there was no reply. Instead, Noctis stepped through the door to the kitchen, closing it in his wake.

Making his way to the basement door, Prompto threw it open and peered into the basement. “Ignis?” he called.

“Yes?” he called back, glancing up from the frayed leather notebook in his hands.

“Can you check on Noctis?”

His expression pinched. “Did something happen?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing sharply.

Prompto nodded slowly. “He got a phone call. I think it was bad news.”

This made Ignis drop the notebook entirely. He scaled the stairs in seconds, rounding the corner and yanking the door open to the kitchen. The door slammed shut behind him.

Prompto flinched.

Then there were muffled words. A shout. The distant pound of shoes on the stairs. Then… silence.

For the remainder of his shift, Prompto watched the shop, all the while anxiety built in his stomach with every creak that came from the ceiling. When the grandfather clock finally chimed the end of his day, he was already out of his seat and locking the door. It thankfully gave him no trouble, the old bits and pieces groaning quickly into place. The till was counted, the excess stored in the safe. Then he half sprinted into the house.

Ignis was at the table, head in his hands. He glanced up as Prompto screeched to a stop, eyes red and expression blank. “Is it five already?” he asked, unsure.

“Uh, yeah,” Prompto replied. “What’s going on?”

Motioning toward the stairs, Ignis rose to his feet, making his way to the stove. “He’s in his room. I’m not sure he’ll tell you, though. He’s… in a mood.”

Prompto didn’t hesitate. He went straight for the stairs, climbing them quickly before half beating down Noctis’ door. “Hey,” he called. “Everything okay in there?”

It was a while before the door opened. Then Noctis was there, silent in his frame like an unmoving canvas. His eyes were bloodshot. His face was streaked with snot. What had once been a neat coif of hair ready for a professional day was nothing more than a nest.

“What happened?”

“My dad had a heart attack.”

A weight settled in Prompto’s stomach at the words. “Can I come in?” he requested.

Noctis stepped aside quickly, motioning for him to pass.

Moving into the room, Prompto tried to ignore the piles of laundry. What he couldn’t ignore was the incense burning at Carbuncle’s altar. But before he could say anything the window was being shoved open. “Thanks.”

“He’s in critical condition,” Noctis blurted, falling back onto the bed with a sigh. “I want to go home. I want to be with him. But what about the nursery? I can’t just leave it. Gladio would turn the whole thing into one big pile of mold. I can’t take that chance.”

As the words left his friend all in one go, Prompto stood nervously by the door, shifting from foot to foot. But as silence settled through the room he stepped forward, fingers running nervously through his hair as he took a seat next to an outstretched arm, Lunafreya’s words rushing through his head.  _ You’ll need to take more risks if you want to be happy. _ “I think you should go,” he suggested. “If you give me exact enough instructions, I can take care of the shop for you.”

“You can’t do that,” Noctis insisted sharply. “I can’t just drop this on you. I can’t just… up and  _ leave _ . That’s not how these sorts of things work.”

“Why not?”

Slowly, dark blue eyes turned away from the window to land on blond hair, pale skin, and lighter blue eyes. “What?”

“Why can’t it work that way?” he insisted softly. “We’ll ask Ignis if he can let me watch your shop instead of his while you’re gone. Boom. Problem fixed. You can go see your father. The stores are watched. The plants are cared for. Three birds, one stone.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Let’s do this.”

“Prompto, I can’t…” He paused. “I just can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a  _ big risk _ .”

“Moving here was a risk,” Prompto fired back. “But the fact is, to be happy we have to take risks. We can’t just stay in place and expect things to go our way. What if your father dies? What if you don’t see him before that happens? You’re going to regret it for the rest of your life, okay?”

“But I can’t just leave!”

“Well I’m  _ telling _ you that you  _ can _ , so why won’t you believe me?!”

“Because if he dies I won’t be able to come back!” Noctis shouted. “I’m going to have to take over the coven and I’ll never see you again!”

Jaw going tight, Prompto spat a sharp, “I won’t let you choose me over what could be your last moments with your father!”

Then…

Then they were silent.

Heavy breaths, the distant sound of waves crashing over the shore, and utter, complete stillness that reached into their chests and  _ tugged _ .

Rising up off the bed, Prompto made quickly for the door, only for cold fingers to wrap firmly around his wrist. “What?” he snapped.

For another moment it was quiet, but then Noctis spoke, voice small and delicate. “Help me pack?” he asked. “I just… I go through a lot of clothes.”

Prompto fought back the wave of guilt at the words. What if this wasn’t what Lunafreya meant by taking risks? Plastering a grin on his face, he made an effort not to think about it. As they salvaged handfuls of clothes from the floor, he tried to bargain with himself.

If nothing went wrong, Noctis would be back.

If everything went wrong… Well, at least Noctis would have this time with his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said to Coffee: “Prompto gets the marriage card. Gentiana just lied to him and called it Harmony. Deadass telling this little soft sixteen year old that it means “Harmony” when she knows full well that this entire reading was screaming these boys are going to be together forever.”


	8. Caelum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the halfway point, guys! Thanks to everyone sticking with me through this. And thanks to everyone who reviews. You're the reason we've been getting consistent updates.

Wednesday morning dawned bright and hot. Alarm going off an extra hour early, Prompto rose for an extra long jog – going all the way down to the beach and running from the tide pools to the little dock Noctis used to fish – before coming back to the house and hopping in the bath. There he stalled, fingers drawing over the little divots in his skin – stretch marks, scars, little red lines along his wrist from surgery after his first time in the air –  before eventually reaching for the shampoo.

He was out before too long, setting the table for Ignis as the older boy bustled about the kitchen. Aranea fluttered about the room, settling on the fridge, then the table, then finally Ignis’ shoulder, accepting a cherry from him with a chirp.

“You’ll be learning from Noctis today, correct?”

Prompto glanced up from the plate as Ignis stepped up to his side, sliding two eggs onto Noctis’ plate before moving on to Gladiolus’. “Yeah,” he confirmed quickly. “I hope I’m not putting too much of a strain on the shop. Or you.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t handled before,” Ignis denied softly. “Just worry about yourself. Make sure to keep notes.”

“I will. I got a notebook and everything.”

“Good. Good.” Sliding three eggs onto Gladiolus’ plate, he moved on to Prompto’s with a shake of his head. “How long did he say he hopes to be staying?”

Adjusting the last plate, Prompto stepped away and stood by the door, reclining against the frame as his eyes slid over long arms and tanned hands armed with potholders. “Two weeks. Maybe more.”

“And when is he leaving?”

“This Friday,” Prompto replied, nodding quickly. “We’ll be using downtime for the rest of the week to train me. Maybe I’ll even be ready by the time he leaves.”

“Aha.”

“But I’ll still be able to help you in the afternoons,” he put in.

Ignis shook his head, placing two eggs on Prompto’s plate before dropping the last two on his own. “I don’t want you to worry about that,” he insisted warmly. “You should focus on the task at hand; getting ready to – temporarily, at the very least – run a shop you’re not used to running.”

There came a  _ thump _ , then the stairwell door opened to admit a very tired-looking Noctis. Shaking his head, he drawled, “How are you guys so… alert?”

“Coffee,” was Ignis’ instant reply.

“Jog,” was Prompto’s.

“ _ Morning people _ ,” Noctis hissed like an insult, plopping down into his chair. “Just eggs this morning?”

“And toast,” Ignis told him. “When I was in, Mr. Crow at the bakery informed me that today would be especially hot. According to the radio, that is. As such I’ve decided on a light breakfast to keep any nausea at bay.”

Blue eyes rolled. “So thoughtful.”

At that moment, the toaster dinged. Armed with a fork, Ignis dug the two slices out of the appliance, placing them on a pile behind it before toting the plate over to the table to dish out. “Are you prepared to train Prompto to take over?”

At the mention, Prompto quickly took his seat, thanking Ignis as his toast was presented. He reached for the butter, keeping his eyes on his plate.

“Honestly? I trust him to take over the shop right now.”

His gaze shot up the table, then, landing on Noctis with open shock. “What?”

“You did well with my instructions last time.” His words were sincere, if paired with a nonchalant shrug. “I trust you to take over the shop.”

Prompto sputtered.

Suddenly there came a great drumming, followed by Gladiolus bursting through the front door with a groaned, “Night shifts are the  _ worst _ .”

…

Wiping away a bead of sweat as it streaked down his forehead, Prompto squinted at his list and sighed. “Can you repeat that? My biology is destroying my notes.”

“Your  _ biology _ ?” Noctis snorted, setting down the aloe vera plant he’d been holding up. “What’s next? Art?”

“Contemporary World Problems,” Prompto joked softly.

Dark eyebrows screwed up. “What?”

“It’s like… newspaper class. Where you read the newspaper.”

“Man, I will  _ never _ understand public school,” Noctis groaned, turning back to the aloe vera. “Anyways, the leaf breaks clean off. You don’t need a knife to harvest it. But when a customer comes in, what they want is the pup.” He pointed to the small offshoot near the base. “You’ll need to plant it in some starter soil with a 50/50 mix of sand, and from there give it a little water. Don’t water it again until it takes root. After that you just water it like you would a normal aloe vera plant.”

“Cool, cool,” Prompto murmured, nodding his head along as he marked a less damp corner of the page. “Seriously, though, this notebook is getting soaked. Can we take a break? And what happened to your old notebook?”

“You guys got it damp,” Noctis reminded him dryly. “It fell apart.”

“Ouch.”

“You’re telling me,” he drawled. “We could have skipped all this if we just had it. Now, pop quiz.”

Blond eyebrows arched.

“Pop quiz?” Aranea repeated from the rafters. “Who killed Noctis and replaced him with this schmuck?”

“What do we do before we harvest a plant?”

“Thank it,” Prompto supplied quickly.

“Yes,” Noctis agreed. “You thank the plant for its service. They are doing you a favor, not the other way around.”

Prompto nodded along quickly, setting the notebook on his knee before wiping his hands off on dark shorts. “What’s after aloe vera, then?”

…

Collapsed in the kitchen chair, Prompto groaned long and low as the heat beat into his skin. His feet were hot, shoes and socks long discarded. His hands were dripping sweat that trailed from his armpits, hanging limply down by his waist. And as Ignis stepped into the room, he breathed another low groan.

“Long day?” Ignis asked.

“ _ Hot _ ,” Prompto insisted. “Seriously, how can it be so hot?”

There was a chuckle, followed by a light, “Would you like some tea?”

“What?  _ Tea _ ? It’s too  _ hot _ for tea.” But even as his words hit the air, his head lolling to the side, his eyes fell upon Ignis opening the fridge and pulling out a large pitcher. “What-”

“The lady down the street was kind enough to share her iced tea recipe with me,” Ignis informed him brightly. “I must admit it’s a bit sweet for my liking, but the lemons are a nice touch.” There was a pause. A sheepish grin. “I’ve also put my own twist on the formula, of course,” he admitted, the heat flush high in his cheeks reaching lower, nearly to his neck.

“But tea is always so gross cold,” Prompto complained. “How will it be good if it’s been in the fridge?”

“You add sugar,” Ignis replied softly, pouring the tea into a tall glass before placing it back in the fridge. Taking hold of the cup, he brought it to the table and placed it before Prompto with a smile. “The sweetness may change your mind.”

Blue eyes rolled in good humor. “If you say so.” And with that he took hold of the glass, taking a cautious sip from the rim before his eyebrows nearly shot into his bangs. “What?” he gasped, placing the glass carefully on the table to stare at it. The sweet aftertaste had left his tongue tingling. “It’s  _ sweet _ .”

“Not too sweet, I hope. I had to water down mine.”

“Just a little bit,” Prompto admitted. “But it’s good. It’s really good.”

A smile met his words. “I’ll put less sugar in the next batch,” Ignis promised softly, grabbing up the glass and bringing it to the sink. Placing it beneath the tap, he filled it the rest of the way with water before passing it back. “Better?”

He took a sip, then nodded. “Much,” he admitted.

Ignis’ smile was soft. Appreciative. Then he turned back to the fridge and reached inside once more. “I think I’ll get my own glass.”

Turning his eyes away from the sudden view of the soft, supple curve before him, Prompto took a quick gulp of his tea, only to pause as his tongue once more began to tingle. It was… different. “Is this enchanted?” he found himself asking.

Rising out of the fridge, Ignis chuckled lightly. “Finally,” he breathed, “he asks.”

“Finally?” he parroted softly. “What do you mean ‘finally?’ Do you enchant all of our tea?”

There was another laugh. The clink of glass as the tea was poured. Placing the pitcher back in the fridge, Ignis took his seat at the table with a low, “Some of it, yes. I’ve been waiting for someone to notice, but it’s been a few years now and I was wondering if anyone would ever ask.”

“Can you teach me how to make a cup like this?”

“Of course,” Ignis replied with a slow nod. He shifted in his seat, back ramrod straight as his eyes settled on Prompto. “I’d be happy to.”

Their eyes met. They smiled.

And Prompto… Prompto was  _ warm _ . His insides felt like they had melted. His mind was full of fantasies. Fantasies of reaching forward and taking hold of Ignis’ vest. Of yanking him in and dragging their noses together. Of leaning up. Of sliding their lips against one another, just a breath of a kiss.

Turning back to his tea, he tried to push the thoughts away. It wasn’t going to happen. Why should he hope?

…

The heat had begun to recede when Prompto brought his broom out with Gladiolus, sliding the handle of the heavy wooden carrier over the handle.

“Looks like we’ve got a lot of deliveries today,” Gladiolus noted, grabbing the front of his shirt and flapping it against his chest with a grimace. “I don’t know how he keeps up with them all.”

Prompto nodded quickly in acknowledgement, glancing up to his bedroom window high above – and the little red bird staring down at him from the sill – before turning back to Gladiolus with a breathed, “I saw it, once. It’s a huge spreadsheet.”

“I’ve seen it, too. Doesn’t mean I know how he keeps them all straight,” he drawled back, wiping at his forehead.

Opening the carrier, Prompto withdrew a long list, eyes trailing from names to addresses quickly. “Looks like a lot,” he noted, counting the stops under his breath. “There’s three pages. With about twenty per page and only half a third page, we’re looking at fifty stops. How about you get the east side and I get the west?”

“The west is all hills,” Gladiolus noted.

“Well yeah. I’m on my broom and  you’ll be on foot. It’ll be easier that way,” he insisted, reaching up to adjust his hat.

Dark eyes rolled. “I can’t believe you’re still wearing that,” he drawled.

“It’s hot, but it’s good for the sun,” Prompto defended dryly.

“No, I mean it looks stupid.”

Blue eyes widened in shock and pale eyebrows shot up. He sputtered for a moment. Stared at Gladiolus, then the broom, then back. His hand immediately went to the hat, clutching it protectively. “You said it looked good.”

“Oh?” A snort. “And when did I say that?”

“Like…” Prompto gasped, mouth opening and closing several times before he managed a squeaked, “four years ago.”

There was a scoff. Then, gaze turning away, Gladiolus leveled him with a grumbled, “Well you look stupid.”

For a long second Prompto said nothing. Then, keeping his mouth firmly shut, he clutched the instructions tight in his hand, mounted his broom, and took off.

“Hey!” Gladiolus called after him.

Prompto ignored him.

…

The sun was just falling beneath the horizon by the time Prompto arrived home, shoulders and nose red and ready to peel. He didn’t make it two steps through when Ignis rose from his chair, striding over to close the door forcefully behind him. “What?” Prompto snapped.

“Did you and Gladio have a fight?” Ignis asked urgently, arms crossing his chest.

Stepping away, Prompto gave a halfhearted shrug. “I dunno. Why don’t you ask him? He’s the one who said I looked stupid.”

“He  _ what _ ?” It was a hiss. A sharp, angry breath that hung in the air.

“It’s not as bad as I’m making it sound.” The defense was out before he could stop it. He wanted to sulk. He wanted to be angry. But he didn’t want to incite something between Ignis and Gladiolus. “It was my hat. He just said it looked stupid.”

Outside there came a crack of thunder, and a wave of rain beat down against the window. Ignis frowned. “Mr. Crow said nothing about a storm.”

“It’s been getting cloudy for the last half hour,” Prompto put in dryly.

With a sigh, Ignis strode over to the fridge, then pulled out a bit of tupperware, placing it on the table. “Take a seat. I’ll get you a fork.”

“Shouldn’t we close the storm shutters?”

“We’ll wait for a break in the rain,” was the cool reply. “And wasn’t Gladiolus the one who gave you that hat?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Then he’s just being silly. We won’t pay him any mind.” Plopping a fork beside the tupperware, Ignis moved back to the stove with a shiver. He snatched up the kettle, placing it beneath the faucet to fill it. “How are you doing?”

Prying off the lid of the tupperware, Prompto snatched up the fork and stared down at the lasagna before him. “Tired,” he answered at first. Then, after a pause, he added, “Sunburnt.”

“Well,  _ obviously _ . You just did a three person job by yourself,” was the drawled reply. “And I’ll get you some ointment for that in a bit. How are you doing  _ emotionally _ ?”

Prompto was halfway through a bite when the words processed. He paused, blinking up at Ignis.

“Noctis,” came the soft reminder. “Do you think you’ll be okay with him leaving?”

“Of course I’m not okay. He’s my best friend,” he answered around the noodles.

Reaching forward to switch off the faucet, Ignis placed the kettle on the stove and switched it on. Then, turning to face Prompto, he leaned against the counter. His expression was soft. “I wasn’t aware you two were so close.”

Prompto swallowed quickly, stabbing his fork into the lasagna as another a flash of light burst through the room, followed quickly by a round of thunder.

“That wasn’t too far off,” Ignis whispered.

“We have mutual interests,” he answered after a brief moment of silence as the wind began to whistle outside the house.

Another flash of light, followed swiftly by the crack of thunder.

Standing from the counter, Ignis drew the cupboard open before reaching deep inside, pushing aside jars and tins to pull out a large metal container.

“What’s that?” Prompto asked.

Ignis took hold of his chair, pulling it out and placing the tin on the table before half falling into his seat. It was an uncharacteristic show of laziness; one offset by the childish grin on his face. “I would like to show you something that no one in this house is aware of,” he said just loud enough to be heard over the howling wind. “You must promise not to tell anyone.”

Easing forward in his chair, Prompto planted his elbows on the table and gave a firm nod.

Tanned fingers took hold of the container, prying the lid open to invite a sweet smell into the room. Then, holding it at an angle, Ignis presented the contents.

Staring down at the large stash of chocolate, Prompto gaped.

“It’s my stash,” Ignis informed him softly. “Whenever I’m feeling particularly down, I wait for everyone to go to sleep and open this up for myself. A chunk is all it takes.”

“And that makes you feel better?”

“Of course it makes me feel better. It’s chocolate.”

Prompto laughed. “I dunno,” he murmured. “Chocolate never makes me feel any better.”

Easing the tin forward, Ignis shook it lightly. “Don’t trust me?” he teased, shaking it again. “Go on, then. Take a piece for yourself.”

Reaching into the tin, Prompto broke off a small chunk for himself with a short, “Thanks.” He popped it in his mouth, suckling at the sweet. But as it began to melt, he felt something race up his spine. Something cool. Something warm. Something  _ electric _ that filled him from tip to toe. “What is this, really?”

Ignis’ smile was infectious as he announced, “It’s my own particular recipe.”

Blond eyebrows pinched together in disbelief. “You made this?”

“Sort of,” Ignis replied sheepishly. “I made the potion. Designed it, actually. It was supposed to rejuvenate someone after a taxing event, such as surgery or an accident. Instead it just perks you up a bit. The chocolate I bought and melted down on the stove. It’s very simple to mix them from there.”

Prompto gave a slow nod at the words.

Rising from his feet, Ignis closed the tin and placed it back in the cupboard, only to return with a bag of coffee grounds as the kettle on the stove began to whistle.

“Dude!”

“What is it?”

“You’re going to be up all night!”

“Well, considering I rarely sleep I don’t see the point of being tired.”

Prompto’s mouth fell open.

Slowly, Ignis seemed to become aware of his own words, head drawing up and around to peer at Prompto with narrow eyes. “Forget I said that.”

“You don’t  _ sleep _ ?” Prompto gasped in disbelief.

Turning back to the stove, Ignis shook his head and moved the kettle to another burner before twisting one of the knobs on the front until it clicked off. “It’s not something I want to talk about at the moment,” he insisted sharply. “Now, how’s the lasagna?”

Tupperware was clutched tightly between pale fingers at the words. “It’s good,” he said weakly. “Of course it’s good. You made it.”

“I’m glad.”

It was at that moment that the whistling wind turned to a roar, and the door rattled on its hinges ominously.

Breathing a sigh, Ignis placed his coffee beans back on the counter. “Guess I’ll have to grind these later. It sounds like those shutters will have to take precedence.” He motioned to the hall with one hand. “Grab the ponchos. Sounds like we’re going to need them.”

…

When Prompto finally arrived in his room that night, he stared at Aranea fast asleep in her open cage for a long while before closing it properly and slipping the blanket over top.

He would tell her what happened in the morning if she didn’t already know.

…

The end of the week arrived all too quickly, and Prompto watched in open amusement as Gladiolus attempted to force Noctis’ clothes back into a burst bag, biceps bulging attractively. But then… Then his eyes fell on Ignis.

Ignis, whose eyes were riveted to the sight.

There was a twist low in Prompto’s stomach and high in his throat. Jealousy? No. Ignis wasn’t his to lose. Envy? Yes. Envy for Gladiolus. For his biceps. For his physique.

For the way he held the attentions of green eyes so easily.

They wrapped rope around the bag to keep it from bursting again, tying it tight to Noctis’ broom before they filed outside through the side door. Umbra followed close behind, then walked circles around his witch when they drew to a pause outside the house.

“Guess this is goodbye for now,” Noctis announced softly, throwing a leg over his broom, only to pause as Umbra climbed on after him, resting his legs on the bags strapped to the handle.

“Fly safe,” Ignis wished him warmly.

“I will,” he promised, rising slowly into the clear sky. “Take care of my shop for me.”

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Prompto called up a high, “I will!” He tried to keep the tears in as he watched his friend disappear. As his broom passed over the horizon. He stood in place for a long time after that. Longer than it took for Gladiolus to leave for his night shift. Longer than it took for Ignis to head back inside the shop.

Long enough that Ignis came out a while later, settling a hand on his shoulder and whispering a soft, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He did. He wanted to talk about it. But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a soft noise, so instead he spun on his heel and wrapped his arms around Ignis with a wet gasp, gripping him tight around the waist as he buried his face in a soft neck.

Ignis took it in stride, patting his back affectionately before his arms wrapped casually around narrow shoulders. “How about we take this inside, hmm?” he offered. “I can teach you to make a calming tea.”

It took Prompto a long time to calm down enough to focus. For him to nod against his throat and let himself be taken inside. The tears had stopped as soon as they started, leaving wet streaks down his face.

Snatching a cloth up from the counter from underneath a dozing Gilgamesh, shooing the cat toward the stairs, Ignis wiped them away with a soft, “Once you feel better, since we have the house to ourselves, I have a question.”

The fabric against Prompto’s cheeks was scratchy. It was a dishcloth, slightly damp. But as Ignis wiped away his tears, he couldn’t bring himself to complain. He just wanted it to go on forever. “Go ahead,” he insisted.

The man stepped away from him – and really, he was a man, officially. A solid nineteen years old. Most of the acne from his younger teens had faded. His shoulders had grown broad. His arms were strong, though they were far from bulging like Gladiolus’. He filled out his shirt nicely. It was new, with crisp edges and no patches. A solid white dress shirt paired with a black vest that he reserved for the shop and special occasions.

Ignis set a kettle on the stove, and then showed Prompto through the higher cupboards. “This is the tea, as you probably already know,” he told him softly, selecting a small box of ginkgo for the occasion. “I don’t want to mess with a steeper at the moment so we won’t be using fresh herbs from Noctis’ garden just yet. For now, we place the bag in the mug first,” he narrated, ripping open a packet and reaching in for the string. Then he paused, fingers stilling over the plastic before handing it to Prompto. “Would you do the honors?”

Stepping closer, Prompto reached into the packet and snatched up the bag, dropping it quickly in the mug Ignis had placed on the counter just as the kettle began to whistle. “That was fast.”

“The water from the tap was hot,” Ignis explained quickly.

“Ah.”

Ignis motioned toward the stove. “Now add the water. You can put a normal amount.”

Nodding quickly, Prompto snatched up the kettle and carefully poured it into the mug. “What now?”

“Now you thank it.”

“Is that it?”

Humming softly, Ignis reached into a small drawer and reached in to retrieve a small box labeled “Walnut Extract.”

“What’s that for?” Prompto asked.

Opening the box, Ignis pulled out a small bottle with a dropper. But instead of being labeled “Walnut Extract,” it instead read, “Calm.”

“Is that-”

“Watered down Empathy,” Ignis informed him warmly. “I made it on a particularly splendid day last June. When we were having that heat wave, you recall? It was much like today.”

Prompto gave a nod.

Lips twitched in an amused smile. “I’ve diluted it to the point where it gives no more than an inclination instead of replacing your emotions entirely. If you want to be calm, it’s easier. If you don’t wish to be calm...” His head shook gently, and a chuckle filled the room. “Then you simply don’t.”

One blink. Then two. “And you put that in our tea?”

“Only when I think you might need it,” he defended quickly. “I’m not going to go around trying to replace someone’s emotions without their consent. This is more for…” He paused.

“More for what?” he gasped.

Ignis flinched at the tone, eyes turning to the floor, then back to Prompto with a sheepish, “More for your bad days.”

“... So you’ve been drugging my tea when I’m sad?”

“... With calm.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry,” Ignis insisted suddenly.

Turning toward the mug, Prompto shook his head slowly. “You’re forgiven, I guess, but…” He drew to a pause, hand reaching for the hem of his shirt to take hold of it nervously.

“But what?”

“What did you want to ask after you told me the secret of your calming teas?”

Ignis’ lips pursed. “Honestly, I think I’ll need a cup for this.”

“Is it that bad?”

Reaching up for a mug, Ignis plopped another tea bag in it and poured the water with a sharp, “I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Your answer.”

“So you want me calm first?”

“Myself as well, preferably,” Ignis replied, uncapping the bottle and bringing the dropper over their mugs. Placing a single drop in each of their drinks, he closed and stored it back in its box with an uneasy sigh.

They waited in silence as the tea brewed. It was only when the water reached a dark, semi-transparent brown with a hint of red that Ignis grabbed his mug and moved to the table.

Prompto snatched up his own, giving it a cursory sip before settling slowly into his chair.

Ignis was tense. His shoulders had drawn back and his eyes were fixed on the table. He played with the string of his teabag, leg jumping against the floor. It was only halfway through his drink that he began to calm. Before his leg stilled and his green eyes turned on blue with a high, choked, “I wanted…” He paused, clearing his throat. “I wanted to ask your mother this while she was here last year, but I never got around to it.”

A short nod was his response, hands drawing away from the hot walls of his mug.

There was a heavy swallow. A long, tense breath. Then, finally, Ignis asked, “Have you heard of someone liking… both?”

“Both?” Prompto asked, unsure.

A flush took hold of Ignis’ cheeks, high and bright.

“Both of what?”

“Both…” He coughed, taking a quick sip of his tea before managing a soft, “Both men and women.”

“Your friends don’t just have to be…” Prompto trailed off as his mind caught up, whirring and whirring in circles before he eventually caught up with a soft, surprised, “Oh.”

The flush rushed down his cheeks and into his neck, following south to places unknown. “I was just… wondering,” he murmured. Then he added, voice firm, “Seeing as your parents are gay I assumed you might be a good source of…  _ information _ on the matter.”

“Sania momma’s bisexual, not gay.”

“What?”

“Bisexual,” he parroted quickly. “It means you like more than one gender.”

Eyebrows screwing up, Ignis looked him dead in the eye. “So it has a name?”

“Well yeah. There are tons of labels. That’s not even the only one that likes more than one gender,” Prompto muttered, gaze turning down to his tea. It stuck there for a moment as his mind reeled. A moment passed like this. A tense, complicated moment where no one spoke or moved until Prompto took a sip of his tea. Finally, he turned his face back up to Ignis and asked, “Why do you wanna know?”

Ignis’ eyes drew away, then, turning to his mug to peer into the depths. He took another sip. Took a breath. Took a moment to collect himself before he admitted, “I wanted to know if it was normal.”

“I’m Bi.”

Green eyes shot up from the mug with a start. “What?”

“I’m Bi,” Prompto repeated. There was a rush in his gut; a stone plummeting through his chest, the gentle whisper of hope in the back of his head for the first time in what felt like his life. “I like who I like, and I think that’s normal.”

Ignis’ gaze pierced him.

His breath caught.

Slowly, the eyes turned away. “Is that so?” the man murmured, fingers closing around the sides of his mug. “Is that so?” he said again.

“Are you… okay?”

“I’m not sure,” Ignis replied wetly. “A bit shocked, to be honest. Disappointed.”

“Disappointed?”

“In myself,” he supplied quickly, “for not confiding to you sooner. In… In the gods for not guiding me to do this before. And a touch in you, to be honest. I thought you’d be…”

Prompto frowned, back straightening against his chair. “Thought I’d be what?” he asked.

“I thought you were straight,” came the quiet admission. “But instead you simply… never told me.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to know,” was the earnest reply. “And you warned me against telling Noctis anything about that stuff, remember?”

Slowly, Ignis’ lips pursed. He turned back to his tea. His chin trembled softly. A shaky, nervous breath blew through his nose. “You have my utmost apologies,” he said eventually, voice breaking under the weight of the words. “I didn’t… I didn’t  _ intend _ … to…”

Prompto stared as he trailed off, gaze flicking from the trembling chin to the tanned fingers clenched tight around his mug, then to Ignis’ eyes, glistening with unshed tears. Hand sliding across the table, Prompto placed it atop an unblemished wrist so unlike his own, surgery scars hidden beneath a wristband.

“I cut you off without even  _ thinking _ ,” Ignis bemoaned. “I pulled you all the way back in the closet with me and didn’t even notice.”

“The closet is safer here,” Prompto put in. “Everyone I’ve met makes that perfectly clear.”

“But isn’t it better to have… company?”

“Well… now we do.”

Ignis looked up, surprised. Then, with a slow glance at the hand on his wrist, he nodded with a soft smile. “Yes. I supposed we do.”

“Glad to have you, Ignis.”

…

Prompto was sloshing the bath water from side to side later that night, gripping the edge of the tub with his hands with his blank expression pointed to the ceiling. “He’s into guys,” he whispered to himself, head lolling back against the old brass. “He’s into guys,” he whispered again, shifting onto his side to stare blankly at the side of the tub.

The first press of his lips to the bath was cold and unforgiving. Unsatisfying. Fake. 

He eased forward again, pressing his mouth to the quickly warming brass, a happy sob building in the back of his throat.

…

The call came on Sunday a week later. Gilgamesh had found his way into the attic and refused to leave, earning a string of complaints from Aranea.

“I can’t even fly around with that little demon in here!”

“He’s not that bad,” Prompto argued as three little legs began to knead his thighs.

Gilgamesh was purring contentedly, head nudging into Prompto’s hand in demand of affection. He turned in a circle twice before settling once more, tail flicking at the edge of thin legs.

“You’re not a bird,” Aranea chirped at him, hopping about her cage. “Watch. The moment you get up he’s gonna lunge for my cage. If he kills me, I’m blaming you.”

That was when there came a knock from the bottom of the stairs.

Prompto glanced up just in time to shout as nails bit into his thighs.

Gilgamesh jolted up from his lap, sprinting away and down the stairs without warning.

“Prompto?” Ignis called. “Prompto, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he called back, lips pursing for a short moment before he sighed. “Just… Cat.”

“Evil little nightmares, aren’t they?” Aranea said simply. “Never trust a cat.”

Scaling the stairs until he paused halfway, Ignis settled a hand on the railing and called up, “If everything’s alright, Noctis is on the phone for you.”

“I’ll be right down!” Prompto replied quickly, sliding off his bed with a grunt.

Flying over to his shoulder, Aranea hopped twice before flying back. “Hey,” she insisted. “Open the window and close the door. I don’t want him in here.”

“If I open the window I won’t see you for the rest of the day,” Prompto pointed out dryly. “You promised you’d stay in today.”

“Then keep the call short. It’s boring in here.”

As Gilgamesh sprinted back up the stairs, Ignis bent easily to snatch him up, holding him around the stomach. Turning back around, he made his way down the stairs, socked feet falling against old, creaking boards until he arrived at the landing. “Would you tell me when you’re done? I have a few calls to make, myself.”

“Sure,” Prompto agreed, nodding quickly. He followed the man at a slow pace, feet shooting out to the sides of the boards. They were silent as he descended, bare of creaks and groans. When he finally made it to the landing, he half sprinted to the second set of stairs, taking them quickly. “Is it good news?” he asked.

Ignis froze, hand on his chair ready to pull it out.

Blue eyes watched tanned hands flex against the wood. As shoulders pinched and a jaw grew taut. Easing forward, Prompto peered up at him carefully. “Ignis?”

“He’s waiting for you,” he reminded simply, nodding toward the shop. “Long distance is expensive.”

The younger boy stiffened. He turned slowly away, gaze shifting to the open door at his side. Through it, the phone sat neatly on the counter, mouthpiece laid at its side. His stomach roiled.

Noctis wasn’t coming back.

Despite how his body had become a taut line – how his chest was frozen and his face pinched – he moved quickly toward the phone, snatching it up and pressing it to his ear. “Hey,” he said.

_ “Hey,” _ Noctis replied, voice cracking over the line. Or perhaps the phone wasn’t to blame. Perhaps he was broken, in a small way. Perhaps he could barely hold himself together.  _ “Did Ignis tell you?” _

“No, but I guessed,” was the gentle reply, voice tender and low. Leaning against the counter, he twirled the cord around his finger idly. “How are you holding up?”

_ “I don’t know, honestly. It’s been a few hours and I’m not sure how I’m still in one piece, honestly.” _

“I can’t imagine.”

There came a laugh, surprised and sincere.  _ “Kinda glad you can’t.” _

A smile tugged at pink lips at the admission.

_ “I’ll be sticking around after this,” _ Noctis told him quickly.  _ “As much as apparently everyone hates it, I’m in charge, now. I’ll still be able to visit from to time, but it won’t be for very long.” _

Prompto nodded quickly, humming an affirmative. His hand drew up to brace against the counter, gripping it firmly. “Okay.”

_ “The shop is officially yours,” _ he continued firmly. There came a shuffle, the whisper of paper, and then the scratch of a pen.  _ “I’m signing it over right now. The paperwork will arrive in a few days. You only have to sign a few things. Ignis can walk you through it.” _

“Okay.”

_ “And the stuff in my room – it’s all yours. The books. The altar, too, if you want it.” _

“Thanks.”

_ “You’re going to need to read them. All of them. Follow them to a T, okay?” _

“I will.”

There was a pause. The soft intake of breath. Then a breathy, watery,  _ “Take care of them for me. Please.” _

“I will,” Prompto said again, voice smooth and easy as his chin trembled softly and his eyes beaded with tears.

_ “... Goodbye. And thank you.” _

“Goodbye,” he said, and it felt like a funeral. And maybe it was. The line clicked, ringing dead until he hung up. Then Prompto was alone until he wasn’t.

Ignis strode in from the kitchen, eyes on the front windows before they turned to Prompto. His hands drew up, grabbing the younger boy by the shoulders and steering him toward the basement door. “Are you alright?” he asked, an urgency to his tone.

Prompto shook his head slowly. “I’m fine,” he stated simply. Even as his words hit the air they cracked.

Hand sliding from a narrow shoulder, Ignis dragged a finger along the wet trail across a pale cheek. He traced the drop up from a narrow jaw to eyes that shone with unshed tears. “I’d prefer if you didn’t lie when it was just the two of us.”

A blue gaze turned up, taking in a sharp chin and acne scars. Dark moles on tanned skin. A breath slipped between his lips. A memory, perhaps, that he was trying to expel like air. Instead it rose before him: a heavy collage of lips on the edge of a tub; of a hand on his and burning skin; of lips beside his ear whispering prayers. “Alright,” he lied.

Arms pulled around him, then, drawing him into a broad chest.

Prompto buried his face into the curve of a tanned neck, breathing in musk and cologne and basement until he was lightheaded from air and the smell of Ignis.

…

The first words out of Ignis’ mouth that night were, “Gladiolus has gone to a concert a town over.”

“Hope he has fun,” Prompto droned quietly, picking at his food.

A sigh hit the air. “Would you like some tea?”

Hand racing quickly through mussed blond hair, he breathed a sigh. “Yeah. The calming stuff, if you can.”

“Consider it done.” Rising from his seat, Ignis bustled over to the stove, placing the kettle on the coil before reaching for the knobs. “How did you convince him to go?”

Prompto blinked. Leaning back in his chair, he fixed his gaze on a broad back. “What?”

“Noctis,” came the quiet clarification. “How did you convince him to go home? He’s been avoiding his father for years now.”

A gentle shrug was the reply at first. Fingers fiddled with the hem of his shirt, tugging it up over his knees before allowing it to fall back into his lap. “I didn’t say much,” he insisted softly. “I just told him what Luna told me.”

Reaching into the cupboard, Ignis gave a soft hum. “I see. And may I ask what Luna told you?”

“She said to take risks. Although…” He paused, eyebrows pinching as his lips pursed. “I haven’t really been taking risks.” The observation hit the air like a question, earning a pair of green eyes that lingered on blond hair and flushed cheeks. “I’ve just been telling people to take risks and it all works out in the end.”

“So the prophecy is for the people around you.”

With a bright, almost surprised laugh Prompto shook his head. “I mean, I guess? That makes more sense than me taking risks.”

“Although you own a store, now,” Ignis pointed out. “That’s a risk.”

“Yeah. I guess it is.”

Ignis’ eyes were softer, then. His lips drew into a wide, gentle grin. But then it shifted. Curiosity. Nervousness. A touch of fear. “If… If we’re taking risks-” he began, only for the piercing whistle of the kettle to cut through his words. He turned quickly, moving it off the heat and reaching for a mug.

“What is it?” Prompto asked, curious.

Slowly, Ignis shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he murmured quickly. “It’s nothing.”


	9. Orchid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the absolutely phenomenal reaction to the last chapter (you guys are amazing) I've decided to update early. (I'm not kidding when I say reviews get you guys early chapters.) This chapter killed me to get out in time, but out it came! And here we are -- with an 8k monster that I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> A lot going on in this chapter. Big thanks to [Callie](https://saturnvalleycoffee.tumblr.com) and Arnaud for putting up with me.
> 
>  **Possible triggery material in this chapter** relating to some VERY mild underage content and some homophobia. See end notes for details.

_ Prompto, _

_ You’ve got a point with the fungus. I mean, if it keeps coming back even with a transplant we might as well just get a new rosemary plant. But I’m really attached, so if you can save it that would be great. I brought that guy up from a seed, you know? I know I say that a lot, but it’s true. _

_ Luna was in the compound a few days ago. She dropped by to say hi. Gave me some advice. The usual. She says she’s gonna visit once a month, so here’s holding out hope. I mean, she writes me all the time so the visits must mean something, right? I always freeze up when I write her, though. I wonder if she thinks I’m stupid? But what if she’s seen more and knows better? More of me, you know? I wonder if she can see me writing this letter… _

_ I gotta mention the weather. It’s so rainy here! The only place anything grows is in the gardens. At least inside the walls. Insomnia is a massive city. You should visit sometime. You’d love it. There’s tons of arcades. Gladio could probably take care of the shop while you’re gone. I know, bad idea, but still. I just got mold. It’s not like the entire shop died while I was away. _

_ Gentiana dropped by and gave me another reading. It was nice to see her. She’s apparently moved to Altissia full time. I can’t be sure, but I think she’s been training Luna. _

_ Back on Luna, I’m honestly thinking of proposing soon. I got mom’s ring in the stuff I inherited. I mean, I’m technically not supposed to have any of it for another few months – you know, on my eighteenth birthday – but the stuff is just sitting there. I’m already living at the estate and everything. I could just give her the ring and no one would care, anyways. I got her this scarf, too, but I’m not sure if I should give it to her. _

_ I just love her so much. _

_ Look at me babbling. I’m gonna close out this letter. I hope it finds you in good health and all that. _

_ -Noctis _

_ P.S. Feel free to share this letter with the guys. _

Laying down the letter, Prompto glanced up at Gladiolus with a dry, “Done reading over my shoulder?”

“I dunno,” Gladiolus drawled. “Maybe.”

“Gladiolus, it’s rude to read over someone’s shoulder,” Ignis put in from the stove.

“Yeah, whatever. I’m borrowing your broom.”

“Do as you like.”

Prompto watched the exchange, eyes following Gladiolus as he moved from the table to the hallway, snatched up the broom resting beside Prompto’s collapsed one hanging from a hook on the wall, then headed right out the door. “Is he going to use your flying broom to sweep a trail to the shop?” he asked.

“Gladio isn’t going to sweep,” Ignis informed him softly. “He’s trying to get out of his funk.”

“What?”

Head nodding toward the door, hat nearly slipping off his head, Ignis insisted quickly, “Watch him through the window. You’ll get my meaning.”

Rising from his chair, Prompto hesitantly made his way toward the hall. Then, with a nervous glance back at Ignis, he stepped through the arch, passing racks of shoes and rows of coats – three boys’ worth of clutter and outdoor gear – before sneaking up to the back door. The curtains on the window were cold, tucked up against the glass on their rod. Prompto swept them aside, only to pause as his breath fogged the window. Scrubbing the curtains across the glass, he squinted through it into the yard, not quite sure what he’d see.

Gladiolus was mounted on the broom, long hair whipping about in the winter wind, feet ankle-deep in the snow. He leapt into the air with something like gusto. Snow flying off his boots, his hands jerked the broom beneath him as if demanding results. Demanding to fly.

Then there were hands, warm and large and spindly. They wound around narrow shoulders. Settled atop arms flecked with freckles. “Surprise hug,” came the gentle whisper against a pale curve of an ear.

Prompto felt the arms. Felt the flat expanse of a broad chest pressed along the curve of his spine. But even as he was embraced, disbelief wound through him. It was a gentle touch. A lover’s touch. He could feel his arms erupt in goosebumps as heat seeped through his shirt. Body heat.  _ Ignis’ _ heat.

There came a sigh, then the arms receded. “My apologies,” Ignis murmured, taking a step back from the boy. “I didn’t mean disturb you. I suppose I’m just not the type for this sort of thing.”

Shifting to face the man, Prompto felt a flush rise high into his cheeks. He opened his mouth, jaw nearly slack, but all that came out was a soft, nearly imperceptible squeak.

Motioning to the window with one hand, Ignis’ eyes turned to the glass. “He’s been doing this every other night since…” He paused. “A while, I suppose.”

Gaze sliding back toward the window, Prompto’s mouth fell shut like a trap. Slow, even breaths whistled through his nose, almost too loud in the silence filled only by the grandfather clock in the kitchen. Then, after a long while of watching Gladiolus fumble about in the snow, kicking the ground and leaping into the air, he turned back to Ignis. “His family is made up of fortune tellers, right?” he asked.

“That is correct,” was the smooth reply.

“Do you think they check up on him?”

There was a smile, soft and amused. “Yes,” he replied sweetly. “Yes, I believe they do.”

…

_ “I’ve sent you some chickens. I’m tired of waiting for this vision to come true.” _

“You've… sent me chickens,” Prompto repeated softly, squinting at the far wall. “But I have nowhere to put them.”

_ “Gladiolus is willing to help you put a coop together. You should put it in the backyard.” _

“How do you even know these things?” Prompto asked suddenly, hand drawing up from where it clutched the counter to motion through the air. “Like, people mention visions and stuff, but I don't know much more than that.”

There was a sigh. A laugh.  _ “It's nothing too outrageous. I'm simply lucky enough to be compatible with a crystal ball.” _

“A crystal ball, huh?” Prompto hummed. His eyes turned around the shop. From the dark front windows to the sign flipped to “closed.” “Speaking of the future, do you think you’re going to visit anytime soon? We could get those crêpes again.”

Lunafreya groaned.  _ “I wish. I’ve been craving them, to be honest. But any day now it’s going to snow in Insomnia and I’m going to show up to spend a few days. Noctis will finally get his courage up to propose. I can’t let him down.” _

Prompto sputtered a soft, “He’s- He’s actually going to  _ propose? _ ”

_ “Yes. It’ll be quite romantic, actually. We’ll go on a long walk in the snowfall late at night before having a picnic in a greenhouse. He’ll tell me about some plants – or I assume he will – and then he’ll pull out an orchid from the depths of the room with a ring around the base. It’ll be just getting ready to bloom, and he’ll get down on one knee-” _

“Should you be telling me this?” he squeaked.

_ “He’s probably going to ask.” _

“Yeah, but this is some paradox stuff.”

_ “Well, the universe hasn’t collapsed yet, so what’s the harm?” _

Prompto snorted. “You watch too many sci-fi movies.”

_ “Sci-fi or not, as long as you don’t tell him specifics we should be fine.” _

Settling onto the stool, Prompto kicked his feet against the legs with an idle, “So? Are you going to say yes?”

_ “I’m going to tell him he’s too young,” _ she replied honestly. There was a click on the other end of the line, then a muffled whisper.  _ “Sorry, that was my brother. He needs to use the phone.” _

Prompto blinked. “You’re not going to say yes?”

There was a sigh on the other end of the line, followed by shuffling.  _ “He’s seventeen, Prompto. I’m twenty-one. It’s illegal. Age of consent, among other things, remember?” _

“Fair.”

_ “He’s too young. He’ll be disappointed, but he’ll be fine. We’ll wait another few years before getting together, either way. Ignis will be the best man. There will be lots of candles. In the meantime, Noctis has to adjust. He’s still not used to leading the head coven. It’s a large burden.” _

“Good point,” Prompto admitted softly. “He doesn’t tell me about his day to day, but it seems like he’s really being challenged there.”

There came a hum, then more shuffling.

“Hey Luna?”

_ “Yes, Prom?” _

“What’s it like? You know – seeing the future.”

She laughed. It was a light, sweet sound. Something soft and feminine. Almost like coming home to warm hugs and cocoa.  _ “It can be very rewarding, as well as… aggravating.” _

“Really? I thought it’d be really cool. Like nothing can catch you off guard.” Leaning back against the counter, Prompto bit his lip as a silence settled over the line.

_ “Everything catches me off guard,” _ came the eventual reply.  _ “Seeing the future isn’t perfect. My visions are very exact, yes, but I can only see fixed points, such as you owning chickens. Many moments escape me. For the most part it’s what appears to be random snatches of people you know. You have to put these together like clues, provided you can make heads or tails of them. It would be much easier to figure out if I could hear them.” _

Prompto snorted. “So you’re a detective.”

Her laugh was a startled thing, bawdy and spontaneous.

A grin split Prompto’s lips at the sound.

_ “The chickens should be there on Monday. You can pick them up from the General Store if you go on your lunch break. You need a cheaper source of fertilizer, and there’s nothing better than chicken dung compost.” _

“Also free eggs,” he put in.

_ “Yes,” _ she laughed.  _ “Also free eggs.” _

…

With Aranea on his shoulder, Prompto stared first down at the pile of wood on the snow, then the instructions in his hands.

He repeated this action for a good half hour before striding up to the house’s back door and stepping into the hallway. “Gladio?” he called.

No reply.

“Getting some help?” Aranea asked.

“Yeah.” Stepping through the arch into the kitchen, Prompto peered around casually. “Gladio?”

_ “Upstairs!” _ came the distant reply.

Yanking the door to the stairs open, Prompto climbed the steps to the second floor, then stepped over to Gladiolus’ door. He paused, knocking politely.

_ “It’s unlocked _ .”

Reaching for the knob, Prompto gripped it and pulled it open wide, bracing himself for…

… Gladiolus is nothing more than a pair of workout shorts doing curls with larger weights.

For a moment, Prompto’s jaw dropped.

A snort met his expression. “Yeah, yeah,” he drawled. “I know, these look big. They’re twenty-pounders.”

“Uh… Yeah,” the boy said weakly.

“Think he could pick you up?” Aranea put in helpfully. “Carry you like a princess?”

Prompto’s throat caught at the words.

Settling the weights on the floor, Gladiolus dropped down onto his bed with a groan, dabbing at the sweat beading at his temples with a small towel. “So what do you need?”

Clearing his throat, Prompto shifted nervously as he admitted, “It’s my coop. I can’t make heads or tails of the directions.”

Gladiolus’ lips pursed at this, and his gaze turned to the floor. “Hey,” he began.

“Yeah?”

“How about I build it for you and you do me a few favors?”

Slow, amused laughs came from a narrow shoulder at the words. “Favors,” Aranea quoted softly. “What  _ kind _ of favors?”

Prompto flushed, eyes flicking from the bird on his shoulder, then back to the older man as he nodded quickly. “Sure. What kind of favors?”

Reaching up, Gladiolus pushed a hand through his hair, sending long strands scattering to the back of his head as he blew out a long breath. “Well,” he began, voice suddenly soft, “it’s really just the one.”

“What is it?”

“Can you grow some valerian for me?”

Prompto blinked. “Valerian?”

“Yeah. It’s… It’s for sleep.”

“Yeah,” Aranea drawled, “I can’t make this dirty.”

“Valerian is invasive and can get five feet tall, Gladio,” Prompto put in dryly.

Slowly, his hand dropped. “Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s exactly what Noctis said.”

Leaning up against the door frame, Prompto hummed softly. He turned his eyes away from Gladiolus; away from lean abs and bulging biceps and bare skin almost as far as he could see. “I mean, I can grow it outside. I’ve never started a plant before, though.”

“... So you’ll do it?”

“I’ll try,” he clarified, gaze sliding back to find…

… hope. Gladiolus was grinning wide, eyes practically sparkling.

“Ask him if he likes boys,” Aranea suggested quickly.

“Why valerian?” Prompto asked instead.

Lips pursed.

“Do you have trouble sleeping?” Prompto continued, stepping into the room.

Rising quickly to his feet, Gladiolus patted his chest with the towel, then his armpits. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But I know sleep potions can be addictive so I’d rather just drink a tea.” Pulling open a drawer, he pulled on a shirt with a grunt. “Thus the valerian.”

“Right,” Prompto agreed, turning his eyes away. The room was neat. Almost pristine. Posters lined the walls – band and movie posters that Prompto had never heard of: Tonberry Rising, The Daemon, and Eternal Grudge to name a few. Turning, he found Gladiolus fully dressed, pulling on a pair of socks.

The shirt Gladiolus had pulled on under his jacket was black and silk screened, the words “Moogle Carpet Ride” staring out at the world without mercy. A small white creature offered a middle finger to its unwitting audience.

“Interesting shirt,” Aranea chirped.

Gladiolus frowned. “What’s the valkyrie been saying?”

“You’ve, uh…” Prompto cleared his throat. “That’s an interesting shirt.”

Glancing down, he shrugged, then headed to the door. “The band was good.”

“You’re a censor, you know that?” Aranea drawled.

Prompto hopped to follow him out, close on Gladiolus’ heels as he made his way out of the room, then down the stairs.

“Where’s Ignis?” Gladiolus asked just as they passed into the hallway.

“He’s in the basement,” was the quick reply as he half jogged to keep up until they arrived in the hall. He pulled on his boots, lacing them up quickly. “Apparently he’s fallen behind on orders, so I’m gonna be helping him the next few days.”

“Where are the instructions?”

“Right here,” he replied, offering them up quickly from his pocket.

Aranea hopped in surprise, streaking into the air as a hand shot out to snatch up the directions.

Brown eyes practically sparkled as plump lips parted in a soft, “Go help Iggy. I can take care of this.”

Tearing his eyes away from his friend’s mouth, Prompto shook his head. “Are you sure?”

Large hand waving him off, Gladiolus snorted. “Go on. I know that’s what you’d rather be doing, anyways. I’ll get you if I need your help.”

“If… If you’re sure,” Prompto agreed, slowly bending forward once more to unlace his boots. His gaze drew up as he was crouched, watching thick thighs and shapely calves as Gladiolus made his way out the door, only to turn to the floor with a guilty grimace.

The door opened. The door closed. Then they were alone.

“Were you staring at his butt?” Aranea asked.

“No,” he replied with utmost sincerity.

“If you say so.”

Prompto didn’t head into the rest of the house immediately. Instead he lingered by the window, pushing the curtains aside to peer into the yard.

Gladiolus had already begun separating the slats of wood by size and shape, occasionally glancing at the instructions and moving something a bit further.

Turning away from the door, Prompto breathed a sigh. “Guess I’ll go help Ignis, then,” he announced all-too-happily.

Settling back on his shoulder, Aranea gave him a pointed look. “Are you gonna stare at his butt, too?”

“I’m not gonna stare at his butt!” he defended quickly, moving into the kitchen. The grandfather clock chimed happily as he passed it. Eleven times it chimed, notes hanging in the air. As he passed through the shop and toward the basement door, Prompto hummed. “Should probably have lunch soon.” Wrenching it open, he strode down the stairs, lifting a hand in a casual greeting as green eyes met his.

“Prompto!” Ignis’ greeting was warm. Perhaps overly so, oozing affection at the edges. As there came a sharp clatter from the window, his gaze turned first to the glass, then to Prompto. “Then who’s in the backyard?”

“Gladio’s putting the coop together for me,” was the easy reply. “Instead I’m gonna get a plant and grow it for him.”

Ignis hummed softly. “Which plant? I can see about getting it in for you.”

“Valerian,” Prompto offered, stepping quickly over to the window. He gripped the handle firmly, the iron cold against his fingers, before jerking it quickly out and up, letting in a bitter breeze. A bit of snow followed, falling over his boots. Grabbing up the broom, he swept it toward the drain in the floor before setting it back in place. “Apparently he doesn’t want to use sleeping potions.”

“Too right he is not to. They’re terrifyingly addictive. No – tea is much safer,” Ignis agreed quickly, turning back to his cauldron. His hat was gone, bangs sticking straight up the way they did whenever the room got too moist.

Prompto loved it.

There was a hum, then a finger settled on a cleft chin in thought. “If I remember correctly, I might have seen some growing wild near Kimya’s cottage the last time I visited. I’ll put something in the post for her. She’s to visit, soon. Perhaps we can catch her before she makes the trip for the Winter Solstice.”

Nodding quickly, Prompto stepped over to the cauldron. “Just stirring, then?”

“What?” Blinking owlishly, Ignis glanced down at Prompto before nodding slowly. “Yes, for now. I can’t let it come to a boil.”

“How about I take over? You can work on your next project.” He reached for the handle clenched in tanned hands, but as his fingers closed around the wooden length he found Ignis had not moved. He froze, grip growing tight. “Uh…”

Pale lips pursed. Then, slowly, a tongue drew across them slowly. “Yes,” came the soft agreement. “Yes, that’s a splendid idea.”

Half in jest, Prompto reached up to pry his fingers from the ladle. One by one they gave way. Slowly. Hesitantly. In his chest his heart thundered, sending blood screaming through his ears like a car slamming on the breaks. And then… Then everything stopped.

Everything stopped because the hand moved.

Everything stopped because his didn’t.

Everything stopped because their fingers tangled and twined until their skin showed a beautiful contrast, of tanned skin and pale flesh dotted with freckles, side by side. Together.

Blue eyes took in the sight as his heart thudded double time.

It was almost too much.

“Hey,” came a shout, and everything was moving. Too fast. Too hectic.

They flew apart, two sets of eyes flying around the room to land on the window, where a pair of sturdy black boots stood in plain view.

“Do  _ neither _ of you guys hear the phone ringing?” Gladiolus added, squatting down to poke his face through the window.

Prompto leapt for the stairs, trying to ignore the thudding in his ears. But as he scaled the steps he heard it – the insistent trill of the telephone on the main floor demanding attention. He threw the door open, racing up to the device and half ripping the mouthpiece from its cradle. “Titan’s Tonics, how may-”

_ “Prompto, I will give you 20,000 Gil to bring me my orchid by tonight.” _

Slowly, he blinked, brain slowly calibrating. “... What?”

_ “My orchid. The one by the front window.” _

“... Noctis?” Prompto asked, unsure.

_ “Yeah. Right, gotta… Gotta introduce yourself on the phone. It’s me.” _

“... 20,000 Gil?”

_ “20,000 Gil.” _ The confirmation was firm. Stressed. Almost angry.

“But-” he began weakly.

_ “If you don’t get that orchid to me tonight I’m going to chicken out of asking Luna to marry me.” _ It came out in a rush, spoken almost too quickly to be understood.

As the words processed, Prompto settled onto the stool with a sigh. “I can’t fly that far while it’s cold like this. It’s an eight hour train ride. I’ll have to see if there’s any trains going to and coming from Insomnia passing through here. I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it tonight.”

There was a groan; a soft, frustrated thing.  _ “Just… give it a try, would you?” _ Noctis insisted.  _ “Luna and I planted that together when I was seven. It’s ten years old, Prompto. Ten.” _

“You never told me that.”

_ “Yeah, well, there’s a lot more I wanna tell you, but now isn’t the time. Let me know what you can do and give me a call, okay?” _

“I will.”

The line clicked, then went dead, and Prompto was left sitting in place breathing deep and staring at the wall, mind reeling.

How much money for a train ride to Insomnia? He would need food. He’d have to fly around the city. He didn’t know his way around, though. It was Saturday – would the trains let him come home before Monday morning, or would he have to close the shop?

“Is everything alright?”

Prompto jumped, head flying around to eye the man who had stepped out of the basement, bangs vertical and face flushed in a way that set his stomach coiling. “Noctis is…” He paused. “He’s proposing.”

“Is he?” Ignis’ voice was high, almost squeaky. His hands slid casually into his pockets, but it seemed anything but. The movement looked nervous. “He’s a little young, don’t you think?”

“He’s older than me,” Prompto pointed out.

“Yes, but you’re…” His expression darkened. “You’re only seventeen.”

“You’re nineteen,” Prompto fired back. “Are you saying you don’t think you’re mature enough to love someone until you die?”

Ignis cleared his throat, face flushing.

Prompto shook his head. “He wants me to bring the orchid to him. He’s going to use it to propose.”

“That’s… a long way to go for an orchid.”

“He’s paying me 20,000 Gil.”

“I’ll make you a lunch. Go to the station and check train times and prices,” Ignis insisted all in one breath, grabbing Prompto by the shoulders and steering him through the kitchen door.

Prompto let himself be pushed, laughing in good humor even as he enjoyed the feeling of large, warm hands. One of which, minutes before, was twined with his.

And there it was once more that hope hummed in his chest; a happy buzz that filled his limbs and kept him warm, bundled against the wind on his broom on the way to the station.

…

The ride to Insomnia was eight hours. Prompto spent it with a plant encyclopedia, reading through the Es, Fs, and Gs before flipping to the Os.

_ Orchid _

_ A long, curving plant with tubers. Can bloom for several months. Associated with Siren. _

_ Care: Place one cube of ice in the soil and allow it to melt every few days. Feed with a balanced fertilizer after blooming to allow to rebloom. _

_ Uses: Can be used in Love Potions. Suitable for fertility and virility spells. _

_ Meaning: Love, Beauty, Refinement, Charm, Fertility _

Peering at the unopened buds, Prompto smiled softly.

Outside the windows, the countryside flew past, the land dark beneath uncountable stars.

…

Prompto checked the map several times before knocking, collapsing his broom against the ground and hanging it from the hook on his belt. The compound took up a great deal of space, the wall winding around multiple buildings in a style older than the rest of the city, broken only by a set of large wooden doors. He jumped as a small slat slid open, eyes peering down at him critically.

“State your name and purpose.” The voice was deep – masculine – and skeptical.

“I’m, um…” He cleared his throat, eyes darting up the street, then back to the door. “I’m Prompto Argentum. I have a delivery for Noctis?” It came out as a question, but he hoisted the orchid anyways, holding it up to the slat.

The eyes flicked from him to the orchid, then slid out of view. There were a series of clicks before hinges groaned and the door drew open.

Moving quickly through the doors, Prompto stood still, watching as they closed quickly and the guard – wearing something very similar to what Gentiana had been wearing, only with wide pleated pants that shifted about his legs like the tide around suntanned ankles – slid a bar through the door and picked up a phone.

“The honored guest has arrived,” was all he said before hanging up. Dark eyes turned back on Prompto, then shifted to the ground before he fell into a small, polite bow. “An escort will be here shortly to accept you.”

Clutching the orchid closer to his chest, Prompto nodded quickly, only for the distant clack of wood to catch his ear.

Across a garden made of stone and sand, a young woman made her way quickly toward them on wooden sandals that clung to her feet. She, too, wore the wide pants, tied about her at the sides, strips of fabric hanging almost decoratively by her legs. There was almost something sloppy about it; like they were supposed to be shorter, or tucked away. When she arrived she bowed quickly, then rose into an almost impossible posture, ramrod straight. “I am to guide you to the master’s rooms,” she said formally. “Please follow me.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Glancing back at the guard, Prompto moved quickly to follow the girl as she set off, messenger bag thumping against his leg as he went.

The walk through the compound was longer than he expected as she led him through door after door, showing off different gardens in her own way before eventually bringing him to a wide set of doors. Knocking on them quickly, the attendant gave a loud, “He has arrived, High Priest.”

_ “Send him in.” _

Reaching for the door, the girl took hold of the handle and pulled it quickly open.

Prompto stepped through quickly, moving from concrete pathways to plush carpets before the door closed behind him.

The room was richly furnished with sleek, dark wood. A polished desk. Intricately carved chairs and a wide table. A sofa and armchair settled by a roaring fire. Spotting a shoe rack, Prompto was quick to set down the plant and divest his boots, slick with snow.

“Thanks for making it, man.”

Prompto glanced up as he settled his boots into place, eyes landing on a boy who looked far older than he last seemed. “No problem,” he replied quickly. “You look good.”

Noctis stood before the fire, wearing the wide pleated pants and tied shirt like the guard and the girl had. They were a deep, pitch black that swallowed the light, crowned by a coat-like garment of the same fabric. He laughed. “Yeah. It took me a while to get used to the hakama, but the haori is nice. Nothing like a good t-shirt, though. I’ve got to dress the part or people don’t take me seriously.”

“Well, you look awesome. Like a samurai from an old film.”

The smile that lit on Noctis’ face, then, was warm and amused. “You watch samurai movies?”

“Sania momma was always watching them when I was a kid,” Prompto replied happily. Scooping up the plant from the floor, he offered it quickly to Noctis.

It was taken quickly, placed on the desk before long arms – longer than he remembered – engulfed his shoulders, drawing him close.

Prompto accepted the hug with a sigh, fingers digging into the coat and burying his face in soft fabric.

“I missed you,” Noctis whispered.

“It’s been too long,” Prompto agreed under his breath.

A snort followed. “It’s only been a few months.”

“I turned seventeen without you, man,” he insisted sharply, voice cracking wetly. “What if I turn nineteen without you? We won’t be able to go out drinking like we planned.”

“You could come here,” Noctis offered softly. “We could…” He paused, slowly drawing out of the hug to hold Prompto by his shoulders, blue eyes meeting blue. “We could drink ourselves silly right here. Make some good memories in this office. I’ll have some good sake brought in, and some wine. Maybe even vodka. We’ll get horribly drunk and laugh about everything, and every time I look at that couch I’ll think of you.”

Prompto felt a laugh bubble up within him at the words. It was soft, but wet, and a few tears squeezed out of his eyes as his shoulders trembled.

Pale fingers found pale cheeks, and Noctis wiped the tears away quickly. “Don’t cry, man. We can make this work. Ignis and Gladio will help you, no doubt about it.”

“Right…” He paused. “Right…”

Lips pursed, then dropped open in an easy question. “When does your train leave?”

“An hour.”

“That doesn’t give us much time.”

Slowly, Prompto shook his head.

Dark blue eyes turned to the floor, then settled on freckles that dusted pale cheeks, staring intently, unable to meet his friend’s eyes. “Luna… Did she say anything to you?”

The answer was slow to come, a hesitant, “Yeah,” that broke the air between them.

“What did she say?”

His smile was slow at first, then grew wider. “Just… be as romantic as you can, okay?”

Noctis sputtered. “What- Why else do you think I had you bring the orchid?” he stuttered out. “I’ve got a  _ plan _ , man.”

“I’m not talking about the proposal,” he replied, voice surprising even himself with how even and confident it sounded. “I’m talking about your life.”

All at once, the tension that seemed to support Noctis’ entire body seemed to deflate. He reached blindly behind him, stumbling back toward the desk before taking hold of the corner with a long, nervous sigh. “I think I need to sit down.”

“I can’t tell you anymore, but tonight… Just remember you’re seventeen, okay?”

“Uh… Sure?”

…

It wasn’t long before Prompto took his leave, pulling on his boots and shuffling toward the door. “I’ve got to catch my train,” he insisted, voice high.

“You should visit more often,” Noctis suggested evenly, pushing open the door and slipping into a pair of sandals. He followed Prompto out, leading the way into the center of the dormant garden outside his office. His wooden sandals clacked against the flat stones as they made their way in, pausing before a large bush.

“I’ll try,” Prompto began, sheepish, “but it’s a little expensive.”

“Don’t worry about that. Spend the weekend here. I’ll pay your train fare.”

There was a laugh. A small, “If you insist.”

Noctis made a face.

“What?”

“You sound like Ignis.”

Pale cheeks flushed. Prompto turned his eyes to the ground, toes scuffing the stone idly as he began, “About Ignis…”

Noctis blinked as he trailed off. “Yes?” he prompted softly.

“I… about him…”

As silence settled, pale lips pursed expectantly.

Finally, Prompto took a deep breath and offered a weak, “... We just spend a lot of time together. That’s all.”

Then, between them, a single flake of snow fluttered to the ground.

Noctis frowned. “Wasn’t it supposed to rain?”

Almost simultaneously, Prompto murmured, “It’s already started, then.”

Dark blue eyes turned up sharply. “How much…” He paused, clearing his throat. “How much did she tell you?”

Prompto smiled. “My lips are sealed.”

…

On the ride back, Prompto dozed to the gentle  _ click-clack _ of the train tracks, allowing it to lull him into a light, dreamless sleep.

…

It was raining when Prompto finally arrived back in town, flying top speed back to the house with his coat bundled all the way up to cover his face. Wrenching the back door open, he kicked off his boots by the shoe rack and peeled off his coat.

Squeezing past him, Gladiolus spared him a, “Hi. Bye,” before tugging on his own.

“Do you ever stop moving?” Prompto drawled.

“You’re the one who just got back from a sixteen hour train marathon,” he drawled back, lacing his boots up expertly and stepping out the door.

Prompto watched him go, then turned, only to find two pairs of eyes staring at him ominously from the door.

“You could have called to say you arrived. I would have picked you up with an umbrella,” Ignis insisted quickly, snatching up the coat.

On his shoulder, Aranea chirped an agreement. “You’re soaked, kid.”

“You’re positively soaked,” Ignis agreed unknowingly, setting the coat on a hanger. “I’m going to draw a bath. The last thing we want is for you to catch a cold.”

“It’s not too bad,” Prompto insisted, breath sucking in and shooting back out in a magnificent sneeze.

Looking far from amused, the older boy left the hallway with a half shouted, “Did the plant arrive safely?”

Prompto followed quickly, smiling as Aranea settled on his shoulder. Then, reaching into his pocket as he came upon the bathroom, he withdrew a handful of bills and held them up for inspection.

Bent over the bath, it was a while before Ignis glanced up. Before his eyes landed on the money quickly advancing upon his face. He flinched as it slapped his cheek.

“You tell me. 20,000 Gil,” Prompto snarked. “How does it feel?”

“Like a proper savings account. Now stop hitting me with money and get naked.”

Prompto laughed, then settled the money on the sink. He thought about the flush on Ignis’ face for a long time after that, long after Ignis left and he stripped down, climbing into the bath. He didn’t stop himself when his hand drifted over scars and stretch marks, feeling foreign on his own hips. Didn’t stop himself when they trailed to his thighs, teasing over the sensitive skin. Didn’t stop himself as he hitched his legs over the side of the tub, bringing his hips above water to keep himself quiet as he took himself in hand.

After, he tried not to dwell. Tried not to let the guilt settle in of what he had just done. Of what he’d just thought of Ignis doing to him. But then Lunafreya’s words echoed in his head like a warning.

_ He’s seventeen, Prompto. I’m twenty-one. It’s illegal. Age of consent, among other things, remember? _

Prompto was seventeen. Ignis was nineteen.

The hope that had taken hold in his chest blazed suddenly, only to wane.

Prompto didn’t care about age of consent, but Ignis would.

“One more year,” he murmured to himself. “Just one more year.”

…

_ “... and after I pulled out the orchid she had this  _ **_smile_ ** _ on her face. I dropped to one knee and offered it to her, and she said she recognized the kinked base. Can you believe it? She recognized it as our orchid.” _

“That’s great, man,” Prompto cooed, twirling the cord around his finger.

“Prompto?”

Turning, Prompto shifted his eyes to the basement door, where Ignis stood expectantly. “Yes?”

“I could use a hand when you’re done with that phone call.”

“I’ll be just a minute,” he promised.

Ignis retreated, then, descending back down the stairs, boards creaking.

“Sorry about that,” Prompto said into the mouthpiece. “Ignis had a question.”

Noctis hummed.  _ “Yeah. I heard. Want me to let you go?” _

“But you haven’t gotten to the good part, yet.”

_ “Dude, it’s not like she said  _ **_yes_ ** _ or anything.” _

“She might as well have! She practically said, ‘Wait for me!’”

_ “Look, I’ll put it all in your next letter, okay? We’ve been burning through long distance. At this rate I’m going to have to send you on another expensive errand just so you can pay the phone bill.” _

Prompto rolled his eyes. “It hasn’t been  _ that _ long.”

_ “I’m hanging up.” _

“Alright,” he drawled. “Bye.”

_ “Bye.” _

As the line clicked and went dead, Prompto placed the phone in its cradle before hopping over to the basement. The window was already open. He took the steps two at a time, joining Ignis at the cauldron with a smile. “You needed help?”

The man nodded quickly, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Yes. Stir this, please,” he requested, handing off the large ladle.

Prompto took it, scraping at the bottom of the cauldron as he carefully shifted the long handle.

Then, from the top of the stairs there came a shuffle. Hopping down the stairs with Gilgamesh in his wake, Gladiolus drawled a low, “Oh, we’ve got a party, now.”

“Are you here to help?” Ignis asked, turning from where he had been chopping ingredients to eye the older man skeptically. “Or just to get in the way?”

“I’ll help. Can’t speak for Gilgamesh over here,” he snorted, motioning to the cat. “Got anything I can’t sap the magic out of?”

Ignis’ smile was amused, then. He nodded down the table. “I’ve got a number of athames that need cleaning. If you take care of that then I can move from project to project without stopping.”

“Consider it done,” was the smart reply. Snatching up one of the knives, Gladiolus brought it over to one of the buckets in the corner, pulling off his shirt as he went.

Watching the movement closely, Prompto edged around the cauldron until he was next to Ignis, jumping slightly as a crack of thunder sounded in the distance.

Ignis’ voice was barely more than a whisper as he asked, “Is something wrong, Prompto?”

Turning his face away from Gladiolus, Prompto shook his head softly. “He never joins us.”

“I mentioned this morning that we were a bit short on time for some potions. We’re lucky he’s here.”

Slowly, Prompto nodded.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

Pale eyebrows twitched. “Are you?” he asked, incredulous. “He’s  _ shirtless _ .”

From across the room there came a grunt. “You guys know I can hear everything, right?”

Mouth falling shut so quickly his teeth clicked, Prompto turned back to the cauldron, stirring with gusto.

…

Early monday morning, just after opening the shop, Prompto found himself receiving an unexpected visitor.

Aided by a cane, Kimya Auburbrie wobbled into his store with a wide grin and a sack. “Hello, Prompto,” she greeted.

“Kimya,” he replied quickly, leaping behind the counter for his stool. He presented it to her quickly, motioning for her to sit.

She did so quickly, digging into her bag to present a small clipping. It was a white bunch of flowers, wide on top with a thin step. “Searching for Valerian, Ignis mentioned you were,” she told him sweetly.

Prompto stared down at the sprig of flowers for a long moment before taking it. “Yes,” he agreed slowly. “Thank you. That was… very fast.”

Her smile was a tired one, pushing up into her cheeks but not her eyes. “When I got this letter, on my way out, I was.”

“And you just had it?” he asked. “Do you have, like, every plant?”

Kimya laughed. It was a gravelly, warm sound. “No, boy, but try, I do.”

Her visit was short, but before she left she made sure to complement the shop. “Full of love, this one is,” she said firmly. “Proud, Noctis would be.”

…

As the clock on the wall displayed noon, Prompto leaped to his feet and set about closing up the shop.

Fluttering onto his shoulder, Aranea pecked at his hair with a high, “Chicken time?”

“Chicken time,” he replied easily, turning the sign over to “closed” before locking the door. Dropping the keys in his pocket, he half raced through the town, making his way to the small building marked “Ulric General Store.”

“Prompto!” A man in his thirties greeted him warmly, name tag reading, “Nyx.” “I had a feeling you’d be coming today.”

“I wonder why,” Prompto drawled.

“Hey, Libertus!” Nyx called into the back room, leaning through a door. “Bring those chickens up, would you? Prompto’s here!”

Emerging from the door, a larger man carried with him a large crate. Through the slats, little feet and scores of feathers could be seen. “I was gonna start naming them if you took much longer.”

“They’ve been here for half an hour,” Nyx drawled. Turning back to Prompto, he grinned attractively, dimples on display. “They’re already paid for. Got any questions?”

Prompto’s mouth dropped open, then fell shut.

“You could probably use some feed with that,” Libertus put in helpfully.

“Oh… Right,” Prompto stuttered, voice breaking. “That’s probably a good idea.”

Without missing a beat, Libertus dropped a small sack on the top of the crate, pushing it closer to Prompto. “Since you’re carrying the birds right now, it’s probably a good idea to just get a small bag. We’ll give you a discount, since you’ll be giving us your extra eggs, right?” His lips split in a wide grin as he winked playfully.

Nyx’s eyebrows scrunched together. “You’re terrible.”

“That’s actually really nice,” Prompto agreed quickly, nodding along. “That would be a big help.”

“What’s nice is Nyx’s face,” Aranea segued.

“What-”

“He’s pretty in a different way than Ignis,” she drawled, hopping off of Prompto’s shoulders to flutter onto Nyx’s. She pecked at the tie of his braid with a hum.

“Hey,” he protested softly. “Don’t undo that, now. It’s hard enough keeping that together as it is, little lady.”

“Beautiful man,” she confirmed with a nod.

“Aranea, stop,” Prompto snapped.

Nyx laughed. “No harm, no foul. May I ask what she’s saying?”

“She says you’re beautiful,” Prompto admitted, a flush high in his cheeks.

“Don’t tell him that,” Libertus drawled. “His head’s big enough as it is.”

“Aranea, you have good taste,” Nyx said, smiling sweetly. “But you should probably go back to Prompto’s shoulder. That feed isn’t that light. Don’t wanna tire him out before he gets home.”

“You should flirt with this one. I like him,” Aranea insisted. “We should keep him. You should marry him. You need a big strong man to take care of you.”

“That’s not how things work,” he argued quickly. “I’m pretty sure that’s not legal here, anyways.”

Libertus laughed. “Not how what works?”

“She said I should marry Nyx,” Prompto related without thinking.

In that moment, everything froze.

A pale hand waved quickly through the air, as if to swat away its words. “It was just a joke,” Prompto attempted casually.

“Not a joke you make around these parts,” Nyx said stiffly, eyes turning on Aranea.

“She’s a bird,” Prompto insisted quickly.

“Then she should know that sort of thing isn’t natural.”

Prompto blinked. He opened his mouth to speak, only to close it firmly. “It is natural,” he wanted to say. “She sees it all the time.”

Aranea immediately left Nyx’s shoulder and flew to Prompto’s. “Bigots,” she muttered. “Just a load of bigots.”

Prompto nodded. “How much for the feed?”

Libertus laughed good naturedly, waving him off. “Don’t worry about it. Consider that a sample. We know you’ll be back, anyways.”

Prompto smiled, but it felt empty. “Thanks.”

Nyx waved him off, arm stiff. “Have a good day now.”

As soon as they were through the door, hobbling out into the street with the crate, Aranea began rubbing her face against a pale, freckled cheek. “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

“It’s okay. I mean, it was gonna happen eventually.”

“But it didn’t have to happen today.”

…

Kicking a bit more hay around the coop, Prompto turned to the crate where the chickens were quickly escaping, pry-bar in hand. “Alright,” he began grandly. “I hope you guys are fully feathered, because it’s a little cold out here.”

Aranea chirped happily, soaring around the birds before settling on one of the cubbies. “They say they’re fine,” she replied quickly, then extended her wing toward the heat lamp in the corner. “They like the light.”

There came a knock, and Prompto glanced back at the entrance to the coop.

Standing in the open door, Ignis grinned, amused. “May I come in?”

“Yeah. Good timing. We were about to start naming them,” Prompto told him warmly.

“Well, I must get in on this action,” Ignis announced, crouching down beside him. “Also, those new bins beside the house-”

“Compost bins. They won’t leak.”

“Ah. Good.”

After much deliberation and back and forth with the birds – Aranea serving as their proxy –  they named the chickens thus: Phoenix, Chocobo, Celeste, Jane, Kiwi, and Zu.

After emerging from the coop, Ignis adjusted his hat and softly said, “You look a touch harried.”

“Make me a calming cup of tea,” Prompto shot back, “Then we’ll talk.”

Ignis strode forward, taking hold of the back door and half yanking it open. “Was it serious?”

Striding through the door, Prompto set about kicking off his shoes. “No,” he insisted, getting the first boot off. He paused, unlacing the second. “Yes. Maybe? I don’t know.” Peeling off his jacket, he made his way into the kitchen, followed closely by the man at his back. Collapsing into his chair by the door, he motioned with his hands. “I’m just… so  _ angry _ .”

Placing the kettle on the stove, Ignis turned to face Prompto, eyes heavy. “Must be quite serious, then.”

In an instant Prompto was recounting the exchange at the general store, hands waving through the air as he mimed the crate and Aranea flying about. “And after it was all done, Aranea kept calling them bigots and… it just compounded everything, you know?”

Ignis gave a sober nod, whispering a soft prayer over their cups before bringing them to the table. Then, reaching for the drawer, he withdrew the Calm and gave each of their mugs a drop.

“Why do you need some?” Prompto asked.

“So I don’t walk down to the general store and punch Nyx in the face,” he deadpanned.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Not with a bit of Calm, I won’t,” was the easy reply. Settling into his usual chair, Ignis blew over the rim of his mug before giving it a cautious sip. Then a large gulp, which was accompanied by an expression of instant regret. Eyebrows furrowed, eyes pinched, his lips opened wide as he cradled the tea with his tongue and panted like a dog.

Prompto watched the entire thing with his eyes wide and his jaw slack.

It was then, and only then, that Ignis closed his mouth and swallowed.

“Hot?”

“Yes,” was the quick reply.

Watching in amusement as the man took a series of deep breaths, Prompto froze as a tanned hand slid across the table. As it slowly settled atop his. As fingers drew across the hills of his knuckles, then followed around to his palm, cradling his hand.

“Are you alright?” Ignis asked.

“I…” Slowly, he gulped. “I know you warned me, and I hadn’t met anyone else in the area who was… like us, but… I didn’t expect  _ that _ .” Grabbing up his tea with his free hand, Prompto blew on it before taking a slow, cautious sip. He tried not to focus too much on the hand on his. On the tingles that raced up his arm or the heat that raced up his spine and plummeted into his stomach.

The door clicked.

Their hands flew apart as Gladiolus strode into the room, yawning wide and scratching his head. “Man,” he groaned. “That shift was killer.”

Prompto’s hand burned for the rest of the day.

…

It was several weeks before Prompto worked up the courage to check the Valerian’s root system. Before he dug his fingers into the soil and moved it from side to side until he found long tubers reaching beneath the stem. He was careful to rebury them, hands almost shaking as he then went to water it.

It was official.

He had successfully transplanted his first plant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two possible triggery scenes:
> 
> 1\. Very, very vague masturbation scene involving Prompto, who is seventeen. I kept it as non-explicit and respectful as possible, and immediately bring up age of consent afterwards.  
> 2\. Homophobia from two shop keeps after Prompto absentmindedly relays that Aranea insists Prompto should marry one of them as a joke.
> 
> Next up, Cindy comes for a visit!


	10. Moms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cindy comes for a visit, and things come to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty, uh… This is gonna be a pretty intense chapter, guys. Trigger warnings, as well. Homophobia, for the most part. See end of chapter for more info.  
> Also, before anyone thinks otherwise, Gladiolus is my favorite character in this and he’s got some development coming.
> 
> Edit: Look at me, nearly forgetting to thank my [AMAZING EDITOR](https://saturnvalleycoffee.tumblr.com) for slogging through this monster chapter with me.

Stumbling through the side door, the cool night air whistling past their ears as fall leaves attempted to barrel through by their ankles, Prompto and Cindy stepped into the house with a bitter set of shivers.

Ignis waved them toward the fireplace. “Don't bother with the luggage – I'll take care of it. Pull a chair up by the fire. I’ve got some tea ready for you.”

“You’re a blessing,” Cindy cooed. Settling her suitcases against the wall, she reached for her scarf.

Pushing the door shut, Prompto attempted to still the chattering of his teeth as he slipped off his thin jacket. “You were right, Iggy,” he half shivered out. “I should have taken the heavier coat.”

A small smile was his response. Collecting some mugs from the counter, Ignis offered it to the two blondes with a grin. “Drink up. I’ll put these away.”

“Don’t be silly. There are three bags. It’ll go faster with the three of us,” Cindy insisted, waving him off even as she accepted the tea. Taking a quick sip, an appreciative hum slipped from her chest. “Well if this ain’t the best darn cup of leaf water I’ve ever had the pleasure of drinking.”

Ignis’ smile was shy. A high flush settled into his cheeks that had nothing to do with the warning for snow. “How was your train ride?”

“Long,” she drawled, taking another sip of tea before placing her mug on the table. “Where can I put my coat and things?”

Tanned thumb jerking toward the hallway, he nodded quickly before answering. “Just in there,” he said before walking quickly over to the fireplace. Snatching up a poker, he prodded at the larger log, turning it over.

Draping his coat over his arm, Prompto walked with his mother into the hall. They hung their things and shucked their shoes before returning to the kitchen. Then they pulled up chairs. The wood scraped against the linoleum floors, groaning as they were placed before the fire. Then, snatching up their mugs, they dropped into their seats with a sigh.

“Blankets?” Ignis offered.

“Yes please,” Prompto murmured around his tea.

Cindy glanced between them, amused. “Careful,” she drawled. “You’re going to spoil my boy rotten.”

“And he’ll be so sweet I will enjoy every moment of it,” was Ignis’ swift reply as he made for the stairs. Yanking open the door, he disappeared behind it, leaving it wide in his wake.

“He’s cuter than you said,” she teased.

“ _ Mom _ ,” Prompto whined.

“And sweeter.”

“... Well yeah.”

It was seconds before Ignis was back, arms loaded with two large, fluffy blankets that he carefully draped over their shoulders one at a time.

“Thank you,” Cindy said firmly, offering her free hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Cindy Aurum, Prompto’s  _ other _ mother.”

Ignis took the hand, shaking it politely with a wide smile. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Aurum.”

She shook her head quickly, hand falling back to her mug. “It's not Mrs., and just Cindy is fine. I’ve heard so much about you in Prompto’s letters I feel like I practically know you.”

Green eyes turned on Prompto, crinkling amusedly. “I’m honestly surprised. I’m afraid I must be quite a boring topic.”

“Honestly, I’m starting to think he has a little crush.”

“ _ Mom _ .”

“Prompto here, though – he tells me about  _ all _ his crushes. Ever since he was little.”

“Mom, you don’t have to tell him this.”

She rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair before turning to admire the fire. “I guess I can keep the embarrassment to a minimum. Now, when does Gladiolus get home?”

“Not until early morning,” Ignis replied easily, pulling up his own chair before the fire.

“Pretty name, Gladiolus,” Cindy noted. “Hope he’s pretty, too, when he figures out I’m not Sania.”

…

It was odd, settling someone into Noctis’ old room. Or the “spare room,” as it was newly dubbed. They dropped Cindy’s things by the door, hanging a dress on the handle of the suitcase to air and spilling the rest of the contents over the floor.

“Sania momma would have a fit if she saw this,” Prompto noted dryly as Cindy caught him by his shoulders and dragged him back.

Stepping toward the bed, Cindy pulled her son after her, peppering him with kisses as they fell back against the mattress. “Snuggle with me,” she demanded.

Prompto groaned. “There’s not enough room for the two of us.”

“Shush. I haven’t cuddled with you since you were twelve,” she fired back, arms dropping down to grip him about the chest. “This is the least you could give me.”

WIth another melodramatic groan, Prompto flopped atop his mother and fell limp.

Lips splitting in a grin, Cindy arranged them until her son’s head was in her lap, calloused fingers running through his hair. “So,” she whispered. “Ignis.”

“What about him?”

“Do you know if he’s interested in men?”

Prompto’s lips pursed, then he nodded slowly, leaning into the sensation of hands carding through the cowlick atop his head. “He is, but…”

“But… what?”

Craning his head up, Prompto’s eyes fixed cautiously on his mother, lips pursing before they fell open in a soft, “Promise not to tell him I said this?”

“Promise.”

“I’m pretty sure he has a thing for Gladiolus.”

Cindy’s eyes widened, then fell shut as she breathed a soft, nearly silent, “Ah.”

Reaching up, Prompto slipped his hand in the fingers carding through his hair, catching it. “I love you, momma,” he said, voice low.

She smiled, laughing softly, gaze falling back on her son. “What brings this on?”

“I just missed you,” he explained, eyes falling shut as their fingers tangled.

“Well, I missed you, too, Prom-pom,” she cooed. Her mouth fell shut as she leaned back, collapsing against the wall with a sigh. “I’m glad to see you so happy here. If I had known just moving would make you feel so much…  _ better _ I wonder if-”

“Mom, no, it’s not just the place,” he admitted in an almost sleepy whisper. “He’s kind of been… drugging me?”

“Drugging you?”

A groan slipped through the air. “Okay. That sounds bad. See, there’s this potion that replaces your emotions with what the person who made it was feeling when they brewed it. It’s called ‘Empathy.’ I’ve made a batch, myself. He made a bunch of Calm a while back and has been diluting it in my tea.”

“A potion? To make you calm?”

“Yeah. It stops panic attacks before they can build up.”

“That’s…” She paused, eyebrows screwing up. “Magical.”

“Isn’t it?” he said brightly, lips twitching into a grin.

She hummed. “So… what you’re telling me is that the whole reason you’re doing so well is that magical glass of water you wanna drink.”

“ _ Mom _ .”

Her laugh rang through the ensuing silence like a bell.

Prompto flushed, eyes sliding open to stare accusingly at his mother. “Stop teasing me.”

“Fine, fine,” she drawled. Drawing her fingers out of his, she resumed brushing through his hair, starting with the cowlick and working her way out. “Are you nervous about the other boy meeting me?”

“A little,” he admitted. “I mean, we have no way of knowing how he’ll react. I’d like to think he’d be cool about it, but Lucis is Lucis.”

“Well, hopefully it’s positive. I’m not looking forward to any drama on this trip.”

Prompto nodded slowly, breathing a soft sigh. “Me, too.”

They were quiet for a long time after that, Cindy carding her hand through his hair as his fingers fiddled on his chest.

After a while, Prompto asked, “Can you tell me how you and Sania momma met?”

“Again?” she teased. “You love that story, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

She hummed at this, head falling back against the window sill. There was a far off look to her eye, focused somewhere on the ceiling, but further. “Everything started on a slow night at the garage. Your great-grandpawpaw was about ready to turn in when we got the call,” she began. Her voice was smooth from long practice, words falling off her tongue like a well-loved script. “A young woman was stuck out in the mud just a bit of a ways out from where we were. So since he was all raring to sleep, I decided to take the call. I pulled on my civvies and drove out, lookin' for the poor gal. And that's when I saw her, slippin' and fallin' in the mud, covered from tip to toe in the stuff. She was a – say it with me-”

“Mudmonster,” they said in unison.

“That's right. Mudmonster. Right out of a horror movie. She looked absolutely ridiculous, so I offered her a shower and a meal back at mine after we dug her out. She couldn't drive all the way back to the city like that, now could she?” Cindy’s hand paused as she said this, eyes flicking toward her son expectantly.

Prompto shook his head happily.

“That’s right. Now, luckily I had a towel in the backseat of my truck, and she managed to get clean enough to climb in without smearing mud everywhere. We hooked her up and got her out in five minutes flat. She followed me back to the garage in her car and I invited her back to mine. Then…” She shorted. “Then she took a shower. I swear, I was so shocked when she came out and her hair was short. I even checked the bathroom after her to make sure she hadn't given herself an impromptu haircut! And she was so distressed when I asked her about it, going on about tight curls and relaxers.”

“Panicked like a princess in a high tower,” the boy teased.

“That’s right. And she was my Princess, rescued from the depths of the mud. I wanted to carry her off, then and there. But then I found out she was nineteen, and I went no. No, she's too young. Too bad, Cindy girl. She's five years younger than you and just barely out of high school. She's off limits. Besides, what if she wasn't into women? Then what would I do?”

An amused laugh burst through the room, short and sweet.

Cindy’s smile grew wider, then softened. “So I set her up for the night at the caravan and vowed to keep my greasy hands to myself. Refused to even cop a look before she left. I was a real lady, you hear?”

Prompto nodded quickly

“Now, a year passed. And not a week went by that I didn't think about my little damsel in distress. Boy, I wanted to see her. I had it BAD. And after a year of waiting, my prayers were answered.

“A call came in during a tune-up, and paw-paw came in to tell me he was heading out. That some lady was stuck in the mud again. I immediately crawled out from the car, desperate for a chance to see my dear lady. Paw-paw seemed to guess how much I cared because he switched with me and took over the tune-up. Lo and behold, it was Sania who was stuck in the mud again. I was praying up to the lord as I drove up, thankin' him for this great luck I had come into.”

“She was smiling, right?”

“Of course she was smilin'!” she enthused. “She lit up like a Christmas Tree when she saw me. Like I was the brightest star in the sky on a dark night lost at sea, she  _ smiled _ . My damsel looked up at me and I was lost. I wanted to be with her; I knew that the moment I laid eyes on her.

“But I was nervous. So, SO nervous, even as I called her by name. When she got in my truck while I towed her car to the road she was babbling a mile a minute, talking about college and snakes and scorpions and these little worms that came out of the ground in our area after it rained, and I didn't have it in me to scold her for driving out in the mud again. I just wanted her to talk to me forever.

“I drove us back to hammerhead and she just kept talking the whole way there. I wanted to keep her. I wanted to love her, cherish her, and I wanted to learn everything there was about her. About her hair. About those little flecks of gold in her eyes. I wanted her to smile at me until I died, and I knew I had it bad.”

Prompto lips pursed, squishing into a sharp, eager smile.

“And then she went home... and a month later she was stuck again.”

Pale hands fell over blue eyes as the boy snorted.

Head bending forward, Cindy watched her son with a gentle smile on her face, then settled back against the window as she continued. “She was out every month, looking for FROGS of all things. She insisted she didn't get stuck ALL the time. Just about once every four or five trips. She was doing real research, after all. She was getting better at this sort of thing.

“Every time she called, paw-paw would pass it off to me. I'd be in the middle of showerin' and he'd half bang down the door, shoutin' that my little lovebird needed savin'. I thought he was just teasing. That whenever she teased me or flirted or smiled at me she was just bein’ friendly; that I was just seein' what I wanted to see. But then, after about a year of this song and dance over and over again, I took her out to dinner.”

“And she got sick,” Prompto announced amusedly. His eyes fluttered open to stare up at the ceiling, lips twisting in a bright smile.

“I felt so bad!” Cindy groaned. “I knew a vegetarian diet didn't agree with everyone, but I didn't think her reaction would be so VIOLENT! She was stumbling around, lightheaded, running a fever. And then…” She groaned. “And then she vomited all over my favorite boots.” She breathed a sigh, long and tender. “I miss those boots. Never could salvage them.”

A laugh bubbled behind pink lips, and Prompto’s smile grew. Then, slowly, it faded. “That was the night, wasn’t it?”

She nodded slowly, eyes falling shut as she breathed a long slow breath. “I got her cleaned up,” she resumed softly. “Helped her stand long enough to brush her teeth. And then, as I got her settled into bed, she whispered the sweetest little words to me.”

There was a beat of silence as the room seemed to expand and shrink with each hushed breath. Moonlight drifted across the floor from the window, lighting boards, a small rug, and the altar to Carbuncle in the corner no one had ever moved. The figure of the small fox seemed to glow.

“She said 'I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you,' and my heart just about stopped.” Cindy’s breath came short, breaking over the words. “Her fingers were cold against my chin, and she sat up like it was this great burden…” Another breath. Long, lengthy, and satisfied. “And then she kissed me. She kissed me and it was like waking up for the first time and realizing life is wonderful."

…

After finishing his jog the next morning, Prompto changed quickly and let Aranea out. “Today’s the day,” he told her when she lighted on his shoulder.

“The day for what?” she asked.

“The day we tell Gladiolus I have two moms.”

Her head bobbed to the side, eyes fixed on him with a steady caution. “I wonder how that’s gonna go.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Hopefully it goes well.”

“Hopefully.”

Pushing open the window, Prompto let Aranea out before turning back to the room and… sitting. He fell against the bed with a sigh, looking around his attic bedroom. The shelves along the wall were halfway to bursting with comics and the occasional grimoire. Plants he had quarantined from the shop sat in a corner beneath a lamp.

It was his. All his.

But would that change?

Fear settled into his stomach.

Was everything going to change?

…

Gladiolus was late to breakfast, emerging long after everyone had settled at the table and Ignis had put out their food. He half stumbled down the stairs, mumbling about his night shift, when his eyes landed on sandy blond hair and he blinked. “I thought your mom was visiting.”

Everyone froze.

Prompto flinched as Cindy offered a defensive, “Right out of the gate, huh?”

Gladiolus’ lips twisted in a sharp frown. “What’s going on?”

Rising from his seat, Prompto motioned from Gladiolus to his mother. His hands shook. His stomach pinched. Yet he managed to squeak out a half terrified, “Gladio, this is my mom. Cindy.”

A snort followed. “Did you hit your head or something? We met your mom two years ago. Sania.”

“Yeah,” he replied softly. “And this is my other mom; Cindy Aurum.”

Brown eyes blinked, confused. “But…” He paused, lips pursing. Pulling out his chair, he collapsed into it with a loud breath. Then, gaze flicking from the table, then to Cindy, his lips fell open in a soft, “So are you his step-mom or something? Or his biological mom?”

“If I knew my biological mom I would have known I was a witch a lot sooner,” Prompto put in quickly.

Gladiolus’ lips pursed once more.

“I’ve never married,” Cindy offered softly. “And Prompto doesn’t have a father.”

“But… he has two moms.”

She smiled. It was a strained thing. A tense thing. “Multiple types of partnerships are allowed to adopt in Niflheim.”

“So… you’re friends who decided to adopt together?”

Prompto’s eyes clenched shut, and a long, tense breath worked its way through his teeth.

“If by ‘friends’ you mean committed partners who have lived together for twenty years, then yes.”

“Like… business partners?”

“We’re gay, honey.”

There was a pause. A tense, shiver-like silence that passed between them.

Clearing his throat, Ignis’ grin was a delicate thing. Nervous. “To be with someone as wonderful as Sania must be a joy. You’re a lucky woman.”

Cindy laughed at that, leaning back in her chair and grinning wide. “I know, right? How I managed to land her, I still have no clue.”

Settling into his seat, he continued with a light, “May I ask why Prompto has your last name, and not Sania's? I've never gotten around to asking.”

“Y'see, Sania always got called last in school for everything, on account of the last name with a Y. She didn't want to wish that on her son. She  _ hates _ waiting for anything.”

…

“And you take care of all of these?”

Prompto glanced up from the cash register, staring at his mother in surprise. “Uh, yeah,” he admitted, glancing around the room for the first time in what felt like a while. Something like pride budded in his stomach, warming his cheeks and filling his chest.

With an amazed gasp, Cindy bent forward to observe a rosemary plant. “And you know how to take care of them all off the top of your head?”

“Well, most of them. I still need a book for some of their day to day,” he admitted softly.

After a deep breath, his mother recoiled from the rosemary plant, coughing softly. “You know, I will never understand why people like rosemary.”

Eyebrows arching amusedly, Prompto snorted and admitted, “Neither will I.”

…

Cradling the small jar between his fingers, Prompto made his way up to Gladiolus’ door and paused. He shuffled the glass from hand to hand before lifting one as casually as he could to knock.

_ “Come in,” _ came the deep call.  _ “Door’s open.” _

Prompto took a breath, then reached for the knob. The hinges squealed in protest as he moved to open it, stopping only when his hand stilled and he moved into the room.

Into the torture chamber.

Hoisting a dumbell in hand, pecs clenching alongside his biceps, Gladiolus nodded as Prompto stood before him. His torso glistened with sweat, body shining beneath the incandescent lights. “What’s up?”

“The, um…” He cleared his throat. “The valerian grew enough that I could harvest some of its tuber,” he supplied weakly. “I dried it in the oven, but I’m not sure how much to use for a tea.”

At first Gladiolus didn’t reply, only to nod slowly after a short moment.

Prompto fiddled with the jar, lips pursing, then falling open in a soft, “Are you mad about something?”

“What?” he asked, then shook his head quickly. “No. No, I just… I have a lot of my mind right now.”

“Like what?”

“Nothing I want to talk about.”

“... Okay.” He glanced around, eyes settling on a short, overflowing bookshelf before he hopped quickly over to it, placing the bottle on top with a relieved sigh. Keeping his eyes on the bookcase, he told Gladiolus lowly, “I’ll ask Ignis how much you’ll need for a tea. Then you can just make it yourself when you need.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” he replied, turning back to the door. He walked quickly over to it, hand gripping the handle firmly before Gladiolus’ voice stopped him.

“It really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“What?” he sputtered.

Gladiolus sighed. “Last time I took my shirt off around you, you made a big deal about it.”

“I’m just…” He trailed off, mouth opening and closing like a fish before he managed a high, “... not used to nudity, partial or not. I’ll get used to it if it’s going to be a recurring thing.”

There was a long silence, followed by a skeptical, “Okay,” that filled the room.

“Dinner’s in ten,” Prompto threw over his shoulder before leaving the room, pulling the door closed behind him. He reached down, adjusting his jeans before striding quickly down the stairs to the main floor. Doing his best to ignore Ignis, he pulled the freezer open and reached for the ice tray.

Green eyes narrowed as they settled on Prompto. “Did you get a new orchid?”

“Don’t ask,” Prompto drawled, breaking three into his hand before placing the tray back. He made a beeline for the bathroom, waddling in quickly and closing the door in his wake.

_ “Prompto, do I want to know what you’re doing with those?” _

“Don’t worry. It’s nothing dangerous,” he called back, unbuttoning his jeans with one hand.

_ “You say that, but we’re not always sure what qualifies as dangerous all of the time.” _ His voice was closer, just beyond the door. It echoed through the bathroom, deep and worried.

Taking hold of his boxers, Prompto held them wide open, dropping the ice atop his erection.

He yelped.

_ “Prompto?” _

Reaching into his underwear, he flung the ice into the sink with a grand motion. There they clattered, staring up at him. Accusing him.

The door began to open.

Flinging himself against it, Prompto wedged his foot in the path, successfully blocking it.

“Prompto, what are you doing in there?”

“ _ Nothing _ ,” he insisted. Reaching carefully down with one free hand, he tucked himself back inside his underwear. It was only when his zipper and button were finally in place that he stepped away from the door, hands raised in surrender.

“You-”

“I was getting rid of a boner,” he admitted softly. 

Ignis stared.

And stared.

His mouth opened, then closed.

And he stared.

Slowly his hand raised, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes squeezed shut and a hiss of a sigh wheezed through his teeth.

A door slammed shut in the kitchen.

Prompto’s eyes turned to the side door in the distance, where the curtains swayed softly.

“I’m sorry,” Ignis said softly, turning and making his way back into the kitchen, closing the bathroom in his wake.

…

When Prompto settled down for dinner that night, the seat across from him was open. “Where’s Gladio?” he asked, glancing about.

“He wasn’t in his room, the basement, or the shop,” Ignis replied quickly, dipping his spoon into his curry. He scooped it quickly into his mouth, chased quickly by a bit of rice, before chewing thoughtfully. “He might have left while we were having that conversation in the bathroom, Prompto.”

Cindy’s eyebrows pinched. “Why were y’all having a conversation in the bathroom?”

“No reason,” Prompto squeaked.

She gave him a strange look before turning back to her curry, mixing the rice into the sauce with a sigh. “I hope he isn’t bothered by me being what I am,” she murmured. “That would make things awfully awkward for you boys once I leave.”

Prompto shook his head. “If he were, he’d tell you immediately. He’s kind of an in your face guy.”

“Perhaps for softer subjects,” Ignis cut in gently, “but Gladiolus has a horrible tendency to bottle everything up. The more delicate the subject, the less likely he’ll be to talk about it.”

With startling clarity, Prompto recalled the door slamming in the kitchen. The sway of the curtains in the wake of someone – possibly Gladiolus – slamming it shut just after he admitted,  _ “I was getting rid of a boner.”  _ Burying his hands in his hair, he settled his elbows on the table and stared intently into his curry.

Green eyes met green, and Cindy fixed Ignis with a mischievous grin. “So, Ignis, how about a segue?”

“That would be welcome,” he told her, lifting his mug and taking a quick sip of his tea.

“How is it that you’re still single?”

Ignis’ entire body tensed as he set the mug quickly down, sputtering between long, heavy coughs.

Blue eyes snapped to the woman as the words registered, wide and panicked.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Fine,” Ignis replied weakly, reaching for his napkin. “Just fine.”

“Good,” she drawled before barrelling on. “Now, you’re polite. Thoughtful. Hard working. Not to mention you run your own local business. How is it that no one’s snatched you up just yet?”

“I’m twenty.”

She leaned forward, hand motioning through the air animatedly. “Just the right age to be snatched up! You’re telling me no one’s caught your eye? No one’s come into the shop and flirted?”

He shifted uncomfortably, eyes casting down to the table as he replied with a small sounding, “I’m not the type people flirt with.”

“I highly doubt that,” Cindy fired back.

A flushed settled high in tanned cheeks at the words, spreading quickly to his jaw.

“C’mon, Prompto,” she teased, turning quickly to her son. Her hand slapped her knee loudly. “He’s  _ exactly _ your type. You must have flirted  _ once _ .”

Slowly, pale hands set down a mug. Pink lips pursed. Freckles stood stark against white cheeks that quickly lost what little color they had left as blue eyes turned up, startled.

“Prompto’s seventeen. It would be inappropriate for him to say, even assuming I am his type,” Ignis put in quickly without looking up.

To his right, Prompto shrunk in his seat.

“You say that, but my baby here will be turning eighteen this Friday.”

“Mom,” he murmured under his breath, expression tight. His hands clenched against his mug, knuckles white and eyes pinched tight.

“He’ll be on the menu, if you know what I mean. Yes? What is it, honey?” she asked, turning to him, only to freeze.

There was no pause. No silence to settle between them as Prompto stood, chair screeching out behind him as he made quickly for the stairwell door. He yanked it open without ceremony, moving onto the steps before slamming it in his wake. The sound was loud compared to the soft click to follow; the gentle turning of tumblers as Prompto flipped the switch in the center of the knob.

A confused,  _ “Did he just lock the door?” _

_ “Leave him be. I probably just made him mad.” _

_ “Prompto doesn’t get mad.” _

_ “Honey, that?”  _ There came a pause.  _ “That was his version of mad. He’ll just leave the room before he starts a fight.” _

_ “He’s never done that before.” _

_ “It’s an old habit, to be sure. Sania is impatient and gets mad easy. I push him too far. We try to be on our best behavior around him, but we’re not perfect. Things slip out.” _

A sigh, then Ignis continued with a dry,  _ “I find that hard to believe. He’s always been so easy to deal with.” _

_ “You may not notice,” _ Cindy began, pausing before continuing softly,  _ “but Prompto’s obviously on his best behavior around you. He looks up to you.” _

Prompto’s hand tightened around the door knob, lips pinched near the point of pain.

_ “I find it hard to believe that he’s been on his best behavior for the last five years.” _

_ “Ignis, it took us six years to get him to come out to us that he was being bullied at school.” _

At those words Prompto flipped the switch, unlocking the door. But instead of heading back out into the kitchen he made his way further up the stairs. He took them two at a time, racing up to his bedroom door and throwing it open. This he locked, stomping up into the attic and flying onto his bed. There he laid, face down in the pillows and fingers clenched in the sheets until he inevitably crawled beneath the covers and fell asleep.

…

At six the next morning Ignis started knocking at his door, calling for him to wake up.

Prompto remained in bed, staring at the ceiling.

…

The knocking was back half an hour later.

_ “You’re going to miss your chance to take a jog,” _ Ignis called up.

Prompto ignored him, glancing instead over to Aranea’s cage. Sliding off his bed, he made his way over to the stand, removing the blanket and pulling open the little door. Then, heading back the way he came, he climbed onto his mattress and threw his window open wide.

As the knocking continued, Aranea settled onto his shoulder. “You’re angry,” he noted softly. “You haven’t been angry in a while.”

Turning to face the bird, Prompto gave a soft shrug. “Can you tell the chickens I’m going to be a little late?”

“Sure, but don’t expect them to like you for a while,” she drawled, taking off his shoulder, only to settle on the window frame. She hopped about, facing him with curious eyes. “How long is this fit going to last?”

A blond eyebrow arched, pale hand pushing the window open further.

Aranea groaned. “Fine, fine. I’m going.”

Prompto watched her take off, listening to the ever growing sound of fists on his door. He paid them no heed. Pulling the window back until it was ajar enough for a small bird to slip through, he collapsed back onto his mattress, pulling his sheets around his neck.

_ “Prompto?” _ It was Cindy then, voice high and insistent.  _ “Prompto, honey, would you please open your door?” _

“Go away,” he shouted back. Twisting his hands in his sheets, he pulled them up over his head.

There came a thump. A crack. The splitting of wood. A low, almost furious, “I’ll fix that later.”

Drawing his blankets down, Prompto’s eyes slid over Gladiolus as he strode up the stairs, watching in utter shock as the man half leapt into the room and collapsed on the bed, sitting indelicately on blanketed legs.

“Hey,” he began lowly. “Plants won’t water themselves.”

Blue eyes narrowed at him in a sharp glare.

Gladiolus’ tongue clicked, head bobbing to the side as he threw the younger boy a sidelong glance. “Don’t give me that look,” he snapped, arm settling lazily on his knee. “Your mom is acting like this is a slight inconvenience. Keeps saying it’s normal. But you know what? I’ve been living with you for five years. This isn’t normal.

“I’m here to remind you that whatever the heck is going on between you and them right now that has them scared witless of coming up here doesn’t matter. You’ve got responsibilities. You’ve got chickens and a shop to watch, and I’m not calling out of work to cover your  _ dumb ass _ just because you’re throwing some tantrum.”

Prompto turned his eyes away.

“Now, are you done?”

“Depends. Can I have my legs back?” he shot back.

“Are you going to use them?”

“Yeah,” he replied tersely.

“Good.” Easing off his legs, Gladiolus slipped to the floor with a snort, then started down the stairs. “I’ll fix your door later,” he called over his shoulder.

Prompto watched him go before rising. He sorted quickly through his drawers, pulling his clothes on away from the view of the stairs. Then, after slipping on his last sock, he made his way down toward the second floor.

Cindy and Ignis hovered about his doorway, expressions taut.

Eyes on the floor, Prompto pushed past them without bothering with a greeting. He made quickly for the stairs to the main floor.

…

Scattering a bit more feed, Prompto’s expression twisted in a grimace as a voice rose through the air.

“This reminds me of growing up with pawpaw,” Cindy said, stepping out of the house in her work boots and a thick coat. Drawing it tight around her, breath falling about her chin in a fine mist, she laughed. “Bit chilly out here, ain’t it?”

Prompto retreated into the coop.

Cindy followed, leaning up against the wall and watching closely as her son started collecting eggs. “The neighbors across the street had this nice little farm,” she told him warmly, smile wide and sincere. “They’d let me keep all the eggs I could carry. Small arms and too many chickens, see?”

There came the squeal of the door, then the steady  _ thump, thump _ of approaching footsteps. They rounded the coop, and Ignis popped his head through the door. “Wanted to see if you needed any help,” he offered softly. His gaze flicked from Prompto, then to Cindy, and back.

With a high laugh, Cindy shook her head. “I think he’s got it handled.”

Fluttering in through the door, Aranea zoomed between the two before landing expertly on Prompto’s shoulder. “Are they bothering you?”

“It’s fine,” Prompto replied softly.

The bird hopped about, turning to stare at the two at the door before leveling them with an angry chirp.

Ignis nervously waved.

“Is something wrong?” Cindy whispered.

“Aranea can be quite feisty when she wants to be,” was the quiet answer.

“Celeste wants to know if you’ll get them a rooster,” Aranea said over her wing.

Prompto’s grimace waned, only to grow tight once more. He reached into a cubby, retrieving two eggs and placing them in the carton in his hand. “We’re not getting a rooster,” he stated, matter of fact.

“She says they’d lay more eggs if you did.”

“We have enough eggs. And if I got a rooster I’d have to keep them separated all the time. The yard isn’t large enough for that.”

“Gotcha,” she drawled, then took to the air, zooming between the two invaders on her way out.

Ignis attempted a smile. “They want a rooster, do they?”

Prompto moved to the next cubby, reaching into the nest of hay for the eggs.

As the moment stretched – as shoes shuffled forward and pale hands reached into yet another cubby – Ignis’ eyebrows arched dramatically. “Yes. Silence,” he spat. “Because that’s a full conversation.”

Pink lips pursed against the words. Prompto bit his lip as his heart plummeted into his stomach.

“You’ve done a good job with the chickens,” the man added, almost as an afterthought, before shaking his head. “But I can see where I’m not wanted.” With that he left, turning on his heel and stepping out of the coop with a sigh and the sag of his shoulders.

It was only when the house door squeaked shut in the distance that Cindy spoke. “He likes you,” she insisted sweetly.

“He doesn’t,” was the swift rebuttal. “He’s just polite.”

Her expression softened, eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as she whispered, “He looks at you the way I look at your mother.”

Collecting the last egg, Prompto closed the carton and spun on his heel. Blue eyes met green, and for a moment there was silence. His mouth fell open before long, snapping the moment with a soft, broken, “Just stop.” His voice caught around the words, wavering in a threat to give out entirely. And with that he brushed past his mother, leaving the coop with his eggs and an expression bordering on tears.

…

It was Wednesday by the time Prompto admitted to Aranea, “I think I want to apologize to Ignis.”

“You probably should have done that days ago. It’s not like he did anything,” she chirped at him, pecking at a dried cherry in her cage. “And while you’re at it, apologize to your mom. She’s only going to be here until the end of the week.”

Prompto rolled his eyes.

Turning away from the cherry, Aranea motioned with her beak. “Go on. While we’re both still conscious!”

Lurching to his feet, Prompto adjusted his nightgown before heading down the stairs. He walked straight down the center, boards creaking angrily as he went. He went straight for Ignis’ door, knocking quickly, only to earn a scoff from across the way.

“He’s in the basement,” Gladiolus called from his room.

“Thanks,” Prompto replied. Turning to the stairs, he made his way quickly down, wrenching open the door and half running to the shop before he lost his nerve. But as he passed behind the counter he paused at the open basement door, ears catching the edge of a conversation.

_ “He wouldn’t even let me in the shop today!” _ Cindy. Inscenced, her voice was a high whine.

Ignis spoke then, voice low and calm; a sharp contrast.  _ “I’m sorry. Do you happen to know what set him off? I’m still not quite sure, myself.” _

_ “I crossed a line, I think, that night at the table.” _ A sigh, long and arduous.  _ “Never was very good with lines.” _

_ “Lines?” _

_ “Like when I teased you about being his type, among other things.” _

There was a pause, then a short,  _ “Ah.” _

Another sigh. A hum.  _ “Prompto wants what his therapist refers to as a ‘controlled environment.’ It’s where everything in your immediate access is either predictable or routine. Something that can be controlled; something that doesn’t really change. I used to be part of that, but I guess now I’ve just fallen out of sync.” _

_ “This is hardly a controlled environment,” _ Ignis put in.  _ “Prompto does very little to change anything.” _

_ “But he doesn’t have to, does he? You automatically compensate for him. You pump him with compliments and calming potions and reassurances whenever he’s slightly upset. His life is easy here. He doesn’t need to create a controlled environment because you already have.” _

_ “You… think I’m being too soft on him?” A pause. “I’m not going to change that.” _

_ “I’m not expecting you to.” _

Liquid sloshed – a potion possibly being stirred.  _ “Cindy… How long do these ‘fits’ of his usually last?” _

_ “I honestly can’t remember,” _ was her nervous reply.  _ “It’s been years. I do remember once he barricaded himself up in his room for two weeks.” _

Another pause. Another sigh, deep and confused. Then, after about a minute, Ignis spoke.  _ “What if he doesn’t come around by Friday morning?” _

_ “Then I leave and don’t see him again for a few years and hope he isn’t still mad. Kid can hold a grudge.” _ There was another pause. Longer. Almost pensive.  _ “Y’know, Sania would know exactly what to do right now. She’d probably go right into his room, temper flying, and drag him out by his ear. ‘If you’re not depressed, talk to us,’ she’d say. Then I’d try and smooth things over, get some ice for his ear even though he really doesn’t need it, and we’d talk about whatever happened over cocoa.” _

_ “Cocoa?” _ It came out as a laugh; somewhere halfway between bafflement and amusement.

_ “Yeah. He’s quite the sucker for cocoa.” _

_ “Really?” _

_ “Granted, it has been a good few years since I’ve had to be a proper parent to him. I’m certainly out of practice. I’m not sure if it’ll work.” _

Stepping away from the door, Prompto made his way back out of the shop and into the house. He scaled the stairs to the second floor. The boards creaked as he went, steps giving at the center as his feet fell one after the other. He headed up into the attic, closing the broken door as much as he can in his wake before taking the stairs two at a time. Collapsing on his bed, bouncing twice, a groan hissed out of his body and into his pillow.

“You don’t look like a Prompto that just apologized,” Aranea noted from her cage.

Rolling over, his eyes fell on the cage, then on the small red bird. “They were talking about me again,” he informed her softly, eyes fluttering shut.

“Ah. Apologize tomorrow, maybe?”

“Maybe.”

A few minutes passed, Prompto shifting from side to side on the bed like a nervous cat.

“Hey,” Aranea called.

Lifting his face from his pillow, Prompto peered up at her with a light, “Yeah?”

Her head nudged toward the back of the cage, then she shook her wings, her entire body quivering for a brief moment before she stilled. “Blanket time.”

Rolling off his bed, Prompto snatched the blanket off the bookshelf before stepping over to her cage. Lifting the fabric high, he said a quiet, “Night,” as he settled it over the wire.

“Night,” she replied quickly, beak lowering to settle on her plumage.

As Aranea disappeared from view, Prompto sighed. “You know, I sometimes wish you were a cat,” he confessed to himself. “You could stay up and cuddle. We’d be able to do everything together.”

…

Thursday morning was quick. Prompto skipped breakfast. Instead he focused on an extra long jog by the beach, gathered eggs, and opened the shop a touch early, immediately jumping on his watering regimen. Plants were taken out of quarantine, shuffled back in with the rest. The rosemary had fungi; it was placed behind the curtain.

It was only when Prompto’s stomach growled that he left the shop, locking the door and flipping the sign to closed. Heading out through the back, he trekked quickly through the yard. It was a warmer October day. The leaves from the remaining tree in the yard drifted lazily to the ground. Dodging through his chickens as they cluttered about his legs, Prompto paused to pet a few of them, whispering words of appreciation and admiration of their soft feathers. It wasn’t long before he rose to his feet. Before he made his way to the house and wiped his shoes on the mat instead of taking them off, heading into the kitchen.

At the table, reclining in a chair with a steaming cup of something in his hands, Ignis sat. His posture was stiff, as if he hadn’t been expecting company.

The steaming mug in Prompto’s regular place told another story.

“Drink the cocoa if you feel like talking,” Ignis began softly, motioning to his seat. “There’s a sandwich in the fridge if you want to stay angry.”

New anger rose in Prompto. Was the cocoa laced with Calm? Probably. Turning to the fridge, he opened it without hesitation.

“Your mother’s leaving tomorrow.”

He paused, eyes landing on the sandwich on the second shelf. “I know.” Slowly, he retrieved the sandwich.

As the fridge closed, a sigh hissed from between Ignis’ teeth. “So that’s how this’ll go, then.”

Prompto turned, hand motioning grandly with the sandwich despite the back facing him. “Look, I don’t know what you’re expecting from me,” he snapped. “I’m allowed to be angry. You can’t take that from me.”

“So you  _ want _ to be angry?” Ignis asked, twisting in his chair to face the younger boy. Green met blue as their gazes met. “You want to waste all the time your mother has here? Is being angry pleasant, then?”

“Of course it’s not,” Prompto spat, “but neither is being bisexual in a small homophobic town by the sea, but here I am anyways.”

Leaping to his feet, tanned hands carefully guided his chair to the side before it could clatter to the floor. His eyes narrowed, lips twisting in a scowl as he hissed, “Then why stick around?” The words were sharp. “You’re turning eighteen soon. Why don’t you leave, just like Noctis? Leave the shop to Gladiolus if it bothers you so much!”

“I stay because of you!”

Ignis recoiled at the words, biting his lip as his eyes widened.

“I stay because of you, okay?” Prompto confessed again. Placing the sandwich on the counter, he breathed a sigh, eyes drawing to the floor. He stared at the linoleum bleakly, expression shifting into an uneasy line. “I stay because you make me feel like I’m home. I stay because even though we run our businesses together it’s like we’re a family. And yeah, maybe you don’t feel that way about me. Maybe you don’t feel like…” He paused, lips pursing before he continued, voice shaky. “Maybe you don’t feel like I’m your family, too, but that’s why I stick around.”

“Prompto, I-”

“Don’t let her tell you stuff about me,” Prompto insisted suddenly, snatching the sandwich up and making his way to the door. His footsteps felt heavy against the cheap linoleum, floors creaking beneath his socked feet. “And you don’t have to drug me to get me to talk.”

“Perfectly reasonable requests,” Ignis agreed quickly, voice high.

“Look, just…” He turned, waving the sandwich through the air. “Forget whatever she tells you about me. I know, I get it. I haven’t told you much about what I was like before I came here. But it’s been almost six years and my moms haven’t been my world for a long time. Sharing stuff like that stopped being okay the moment I moved back here on a permanent basis. You don’t need to know about it. I don’t want you to know about it.

“You don’t need to know that I used to have angry fits that would last weeks. You don’t need to know that I was bullied in elementary school. You don’t need to know that you’re my type. I don’t  _ want  _ you to know  _ any _ of that. I just want you to see me as I am right now. And yeah, I guess I  _ am _ having an angry fit. I guess I  _ am _ boarding myself up in my room and ignoring you and mom. Maybe I’m just overreacting. But the thing is I don’t live with my parents any more – I live with you and Gladio.

“You baby me and he likes to tease me. You don’t coordinate on how to get me out of my room. You don’t  _ need _ to because  _ you  _ know when to give me space and  _ he _ knows when to – apparently now in a literal sense – break down my door! You both haven’t seen me at my worst. I don’t want you to so much as hear about it, but here she is spilling my secrets like they’re…  _ something that spills _ .” He breathed hard.

Ignis stared.

“So I’m gonna go,” Prompto finished softly. “I’m gonna eat this sandwich in the shop and just… don’t follow me, okay? I need another day to stew in this.”

“Okay.”

Turning away, Prompto made his way back through the hallway, slipping his shoes on and heading out into the yard.

For lunch he sat with the quarantined plants, poking at them with his shears for a long while before finishing his sandwich and opening the shop.

He felt like crying.

He didn’t.

…

Lifting his hand slowly, Prompto hesitated before Noctis’ old – before the  _ spare room’s _ – door. His other hand clenched in his nightgown, drawing it tight across his stomach. It was a while before he knocked. Before he brought his knuckles against the wood with a resounding  _ thunk thunk _ .

_ “Yes?” _

“It’s me,” he called.

The door flew open, and Cindy stood there in her pajamas, hip popped to the side as she stared up at her son. “You ready to talk?” she asked.

“I’m sorry,” he admitted lowly.

“No, I’m sorry,” she insisted, reaching forward to slide a hand across his shoulder. “Iggy gave me a basic rundown of what you said. I’m sorry for openin’ my big mouth.”

Lips pursed, then Prompto let out a long sigh. He felt like he’d been sighing a lot, lately.

Stepping back, his mother motioned for him to join her in the room. “Come on in. We can still get some quality cuddle time in before I have to leave tomorrow.”

He followed the motion quickly, moving into the room and falling onto the bed.

Cindy joined him after closing the door, hinges squealing loudly. “Those need to be oiled.”

“They all need to be oiled,” Prompto agreed. “I’m trying to figure out where Ignis keeps it so I can do it before he gets a chance. He does most of the house upkeep.”

“I’m starting to think he does most of everything around here,” Cindy drawled. Collapsing onto the bed, she laid back against the window and motioned toward her lap with a hand.

Falling onto his side, he was quick to rest his face against her knees, curling his arms around his legs as he brought them up to his chest. He hummed as fingers stole into his hair. As hands began to comb through the strands with an old familiarity.

“I’m sorry if I ruined things between you and Ignis,” Cindy whispered after a long while.

“Not as sorry as I am that you’re leaving on my birthday,” he breathed, rolling onto his back. He unfolded against the mattress, hooking his knees over the top of the bed’s footboard.

She shook her head softly. “We can get a cake before I leave. The bakery’s gotta have one.”

“The bakery isn’t open this late, momma,” he pointed out.

Cindy blew a raspberry, leaning back against the window. “We should have planned something,” she insisted sharply. “Ignis could have made you something special. I’m surprised he didn’t.”

“I don’t eat cake, momma,” Prompto supplied softly. “It’s fattening.”

“I’m still having issues with that,” she drawled. Her hand paused in her son’s hair, picking out a bit of lint before continuing. “You’ve always been a big boy. It’s a bit unnerving to see you this skinny. If I didn’t know firsthand that Ignis fed you so well I’d have some doubts about whether you ate at all.”

“Mom.”

“You’re a naturally chubby boy!” she defended.

He bit his lip, gaze turning to the door, then to green eyes and blonde hair haloed by the light of the moon at her back. “Well… I don’t want to be a chubby man, okay? I want…” He paused, clearing his throat as nerves jumped in his stomach. “I want to be in shape and eat well. You know – do everything the doctor told me to help with the medication. You know… be happier.”

Cindy snorted. “Or you could have Ignis drug you up every morning.”

“Mom. No.”

“He’d do it, too. That man would go to the ends of the earth for you.”

“He wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t encourage an unhealthy habit like emotional dependence, either.”

A snort. “Too right you are,” she admitted glibly. “Man’s a saint. Only wants what’s best for you.”

Prompto didn’t reply to that. He opened his mouth, intending to say, “He wants what’s best for everyone,” or, “He’s just nice.” But as the words failed to slip from his lips his mouth fell shut. He opted instead to enjoy the feel of fingers carding through his hair a bit longer. Then, nearly an hour later, he softly murmured, “Sorry for being a jerk for your entire visit.”

“I was a jerk first,” Cindy soothed him sweetly.

…

The room was barely lit by the moon when Prompto woke later that night, a bare wash of white that dusted the curtains.  He shifted in bed, eyes landing on the figure at the top of his stairs, cloaked in shadows.

As an aborted, broken, half muted scream pierced the air, the figure nearly dropped the plate and candle in their hands, shushing him quickly. “My apologies,” they insisted quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Please don’t wake the others.”

“Ignis?” Prompto squeaked, squinting through the darkness at the barely illuminated face. “What are you doing in my room? And… what are you holding?”

Ignis’ sheepish smile was barely visible in the meager light of the candle. He approached the bed, placing it on the bedside table, only to grab a small stick from the plate in his hand. He held it over the small flame, lighting it without a word before placing it atop a small, then lightly illuminated pastry.

Prompto stared at the pastry. At the small candle atop it. At the lips gently lit by the meager marble of flame.

“Happy birthday to you,” the lips whispered softly, “Happy birthday to you.”

A flush rose high in Prompto’s cheeks as Ignis’ voice eased across to him; as the candle flickered and his stomach gave a warm, ecstatic jump.

“Happy birthday, dear Prompto,” he continued sweetly, voice a gentle baritone – a touch higher than his speaking voice – that gave the younger boy shivers. “Happy birthday to you.”

Downstairs, the grandfather clock chimed twelve long, drawn out notes.

“It’s midnight. Happy birthday,” Ignis whispered.

“You timed this really well,” Prompto noted warmly, reaching for the plate. A fork nearly dropped to the floor as he grabbed it, falling and balancing precariously on his leg. He snatched it up quickly, cheeks heating as the warm metal seemed to melt into his palm. How long had Ignis held it? “You really shouldn’t have.”

“I should and I did,” Ignis argued. “You’re officially a man, now. At least in the eyes of the law. I should have done more.”

Prompto’s lips pursed, and he stared down at the little candle between his hands. “You said you didn’t want to wake the others. Is it just you?”

A throat was cleared nervously at this. “Yes. Admittedly…” He paused, green eyes flicking to the door – hanging ajar, no longer able to remain closed – then back to Prompto. “I’ll admit, I wanted you all to myself tonight. After what you told me today, I felt like this should be a private affair. Something that will be just ours that no one else will know about. Not even your mother.”

“Oh?” Prompto drawled. “So whenever someone asks me what I did for my eighteenth birthday, I have to lie and tell them I didn’t do anything?”

“That is correct.”

“Even Noctis?”

“Especially Noctis.”

“And Luna?”

“I’m starting to think you’re not up to keeping me as your dirty little secret,” Ignis drawled, leaning forward conspiratorially.

Prompto snickered, baring his teeth in a wide grin. “I don’t know about  _ dirty _ ,” he teased. “But I’d be willing to keep you a secret.” The words settled between them like a promise. And perhaps it was. As the double meaning washed over him, Prompto felt his chest lurch.

“How about you make a wish?” Ignis suggested.

Blue eyes flicked from the older man, then to the candle. Slowly, they closed. His lips pursed, then puckered. Finally, eyes flying open, he blew out the candle.

“What did you wish for?”

His gaze turned up, taking in eyes that glittered green in the dim moonlight. “You really want to know?” His attention flicked down, then. Took in usually thin lips that seemed especially plump in that moment. Touchable.

Kissable.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want,” Ignis insisted, lips graceful around lightly accented words.

“I wished…” He paused, lashes fluttering softly against his cheeks before he admitted weakly, “I wished that I would be kissed.”

“Kissed?” His voice was curious. Almost amused.

“Yeah. Kissed,” Prompto replied softly, voice just beneath a whisper. “I wanna be kissed by someone who loves me.”

Ignis’ smile then was soft. Sweet. It was a small thing, barely lit by the moon and the candle flickering on the bedside table. “In that case, close your eyes.”

For a moment Prompto did nothing. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open as the words processed. Then, jaw snapping shut, he did as he was told.

Silence followed.

Then the creak of the bed.

The dip of the mattress before his legs.

Warm fingers shifted the plate in his hands aside.

A nose, soft and electric against his… then gone.

Prompto’s mouth remained untouched as breath washed over his forehead. As a slightly chapped pair of lips pressed gently to the bare expanse of skin. They lingered, pressing not one, but three kisses to the flesh, pushing aside bangs in the trail they made over three large freckles.

And then they were gone, and Prompto could breathe again. His eyes flew open, taking in the flush in the older man’s cheeks and his nervous smile.

“It may not count for much,” Ignis whispered, “but I am exceptionally fond of you.”

In Prompto’s chest, hope fluttered like a scared bird from where it had been hiding throughout the week.

Motioning toward the plate, Ignis grinned. “Go on. It’s your birthday. Cheat on that diet of yours.”

…

Prompto was halfway out the door with his mother when Gladiolus came down the stairs the next morning. “Morning,” he called.

“Morning,” Gladiolus replied stiffly as Ignis raced across the kitchen into the store. “Looks like I slept in.”

“We all did,” Prompto admitted quickly, adjusting the scarf around his neck. He turned to his mother, then back to Gladiolus, grinning wide. “Wanna walk with us to the station? You’d be a big help.”

Dark hair fought against its braid as a head shook. “Nah. Want me to open shop instead?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

“... Okay, then.”

…

Cindy refused to let go of her son until final calls, holding him close to her side and whispering warm “Happy birthday”s and “I wish we had more times”s.

…

The flight home from the station was short and cold, and Prompto arrived at the shop before too long, regret heavy in his stomach. Pushing open the front door, he greeted Gladiolus with a raised hand and a husky, “Thanks for opening the shop.” He cleared his throat, eyes pinching animatedly.

Glancing up from his book, Gladiolus shrugged and stepped off the stool. “No problem,” he droned. Stuffing a bookmark in his place, he closed the book quickly and made his way to the back door.

Hopping behind the counter, Prompto settled his broom against the wall and snatched up the watering can with a light hum.

“Hey, I have a question.”

Turning, blue eyes landed on brown as Prompto shifted his gaze to Gladiolus, eyebrows arching curiously. “What’s up?”

“Why did you lie?”

A blink. Then two. “What?” he sputtered. “What did I lie about?”

Gladiolus shook his head, attention turning from the closed door, to the empty shop, then back to the younger man. “A lie by omission is still a lie,” he said. His voice was almost monotonous, but a firm undercurrent betrayed something like anger. “You have two moms.”

“Uh, yeah. I know.”

“They’re  _ gay _ .”

“I mean, that’s a bit of an oversimplification, but-”

“Oversimplification?” Gladiolus spat. His foot shot forward a step, bringing him up to the counter. His hand slapped to the surface with a sharp  _ smack _ . “Prompto, you didn’t think to warn us that you had  _ lesbians _ for mothers?” he continued bitterly. The hand drew up, then, combing quickly through his hair as his eyes turned to the rest of the shop. “I can’t believe Ignis took it in stride like he did. I was…  _ thrown _ . I can’t imagine what he’s going through. He won’t even talk to me about it.”

Slowly, in a small, nervous whisper, Prompto admitted, “Ignis knew.”

Attention snapping to the younger man, Gladiolus hissed a low, “What?”

“He knew, okay?” he repeated, voice growing firm. “He’s known for years. He’s known since we first called the coven for advice.”

“So it was just me, then? I’m the only one out of the loop?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you are,” Prompto snapped. “Because for some reason Ignis didn’t think you’d react all that well.”

“Maybe that’s because it’s not something to react well to!”

A pale hand fell to the hem of a worn coat, gripping it firmly. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“It’s unnatural, among other things,” was the sharp reply.

A shiver raced up Prompto’s spine. “We should have told you sooner,” he admitted under his breath.

Gladiolus’ mouth twisted, and he took another firm step forward. “What was that?”

“We should have told you  _ sooner _ ,” he repeated, voice growing stronger with each word. “But no, Ignis was always warning me about how you could react. For… For  _ years _ he’s been keeping everything in, dragging everyone into the closet. Everything we didn’t say – everything we pretended wasn’t happening, everything we swallowed back – was because he was afraid of your reaction.”

“What do you mean by ‘everyone’?”

Setting the watering can down, Prompto shifted to look Gladiolus dead in the eye, chin lifted in a show of bravery he didn’t know was in him. “Look,” he began, only to pause to clear his throat. “My moms like women, and they fell in love so they decided to be together until the day they died. Then they adopted a kid who was scared and unwanted and  _ fat _ and I think they did a  _ pretty  _ good job of raising me, so if you think that’s  _ wrong _ and  _ unnatural _ then you can…” His words cut out, breaking off as his eyes scrunched shut and he forced out a loud, squeaky, “You can  _ fuck off _ .”

Silence settled in the wake of his words.

Slowly, ever so slowly, blue eyes slipped open. They took in the sharp line of a clenched jaw. The angry pinch of thick eyebrows. The furious slant of brown eyes.

Pale lips fell open in a disarmingly soft, “Fine.” Then Gladiolus turned…

… and left.

The back door slammed in his wake. The entire store shook with the force of it, tiles shivering and lights swaying gently from the ceiling.

Collapsing in his stool, Prompto jumped to attention when the front door jingled.

“This is where I go to get a plant splice, right?” a younger woman asked from the front.

Sliding to his feet, Prompto grinned warmly, pushing away the sudden need to vomit. “Of course! How may I help you? Are you looking for anything specific?”

…

Later that night, Ignis asked, “Do you happen to know where Gladiolus is?”

Glancing up from his dinner, Prompto shrugged, then turned his attention back to moving his broccoli around his plate. “I don’t know,” he drawled. “Ask the local homophobia brigade.”

Slowly, Ignis blinked. “Pardon?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he snapped.

“Prompto-”

Shooting up from the table, Prompto made his way quickly to the stairs.

“You’d better not be throwing a fit,” Ignis called after him, voice high and panicked.

As he paused, pale hands settled against the smooth wood of the doorway. “I’m not,” he admitted quietly. “I just don’t want to cry in front of you on my birthday.”

“So you’d rather cry alone in your room after skipping dinner?”

Prompto shrugged, then moved to head up the stairs. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

…

Prompto woke to raised voices. He didn’t register them at first, not knowing what woke him. But as muffled words floated up the stairs he launched himself out of bed, heart thrumming a panicked beat in his chest.

Gladiolus and Ignis were… fighting?

He walked slowly to the top of the stairs, hands gripping the top of the railing as if it would stop the words. For a long time he stood there. His knuckles turned white. He waited for the voices to pause. To give way to silence for a few moments, at least. Maybe even to stop altogether.

Instead they went on.

And on.

And on.

There was an almost ethereal moment that followed; something out of a movie. He eased down the stairs, moonlight flooding the steps from where the full moon filled his bedroom window. His limbs cast shadows over the wood. It was almost hard to breathe. He stepped on the sides of the boards, descending in silence as the voices rose. His hand fell on the attic door, pushing it open, the freshly oiled hinges silent.

The voices were louder then, carrying through the second story and banging around the inside of Prompto’s head. They were nonsense in his ears. Gibberish at best through the solid door at the bottom of the next set of stairs. He headed toward them quickly, only to pause as the voices rose and reached something like clarity.

_ “I like men!” _ It was Ignis’ voice, high and parched and angrier than Prompto had ever heard it.  _ “I like men!” _ he shouted once more. Then again,  _ “I like men!” _

A door slammed, shaking the wall, the floor, the very house.

There was silence.

Then footsteps. The rumble of a knob turning. Freshly oiled hinges hissing quietly as the door was wrenched open.

After what felt like a lifetime, Ignis stared up at Prompto with wide eyes that glittered with tears. They streaked down his face. Some had already fallen to wet his shirt. His eyes were red and puffy as if he’d been sobbing for hours.

“What-” was the only word Prompto could manage before Ignis was on him, warm hands gripping his shoulders as a tanned face buried in the front of his nightgown.

And then Ignis sobbed. It was a broken sound. An angry sound. A sound that wrenched Prompto’s stomach into his chest and twisted it into knots.

Pale arms wound about broad shoulders, pulling him close like Ignis had done for him so many times before. They fell together, as if in slow motion, to hold each other on the steps. Nearly an hour passed. An hour of soft coos and hands in hair and Ignis slowly relearning to breathe without his entire body shaking like a leaf.

“You wanna talk about it?” Prompto asked.

“No,” Ignis answered weakly. “Not until tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Cindy shares information with Ignis that Prompto’d rather not have been shared - repeatedly - and Prompto gives them both the silent treatment for several days. Gladiolus does not take learning Prompto has two moms well, and insists it’s unnatural. It’s important to note that he comes from a place of ignorance more than hate, and (spoiler) he will be coming around very soon.


	11. Irises and Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some health stuff happened. I also got a new job. And went to a convention. And started a Zine. So, uh... sorry this chapter is so late.
> 
> Edited, as always, by the wonderful Coffee and Arnaud.

Prompto woke like a love song.

His eyes fluttered open, taking in the slant of light through the windows, street lamps shining through the blinds. It was as if a song were playing, the beats working through him one after the other. His breath caught in his throat. Fingers curled in the pillow case. Heart going double time, he nudged forward, gaze flicking down, then up.

Across from him, Ignis’ eyes slid slowly open.

Prompto smiled. “Morning,” he whispered.

“Morning,” Ignis murmured back, grinning softly, only for a grimace to slide across his face as his cheek eased through a dark puddle. “Oh goodness.”

“You drool?”

“Only when I sleep well.”

“Happen often?”

“Not as often as I’d like.”

At their side, the alarm chimed brightly.

Ignis leaned over, hand slapping over the clock with expert aim to silence it.

Slowly, Prompto began to rise.

Green eyes slid to him, blinking curiously. “Where are you going?” he asked. “It’s Saturday.”

“I have to take care of the chickens,” Prompto replied quietly. His chest lurched, stomach roiling anxiously at the words. Tugging his nightgown into place, he carefully moved over Ignis and off the bed. “I’ll… I’ll be back after, if you want.”

Slowly, Ignis shook his head. “I should start on breakfast,” he said, voice low.

“We could have a late breakfast,” Prompto suggested softly. “Just stay in bed for a bit longer. You know. Sleep in.”

Drawing up, Ignis curled into a sitting position before his arms shot out, tanned skin stretching above his head and hands catching in the air. He gave a groan, long and drawn out. “Sleep in?” he repeated skeptically. “Perhaps. I haven’t had a chance to sleep in for quite a while.”

Pert lips curled in a wide grin. “Stay in bed, then. I’ll be back. We can start the day late.”

Leaning back, the older man breathed a sigh. “That sounds like a plan.”

A nod, then a spare, “I’ll be back,” and Prompto left. He moved through the house quickly, racing up the stairs to his room two steps at a time. He released the catch on Aranea’s cage, half flinging the blanket to the floor before pushing the window open.

“You’re in a good mood,” she observed as she woke. “Did something happen?”

Reaching for the chest of drawers, Prompto pulled on a pair of jeans and a dark shirt, head popping out of the neck like a daisy. “Y’know, I think it’s going to be a lazy day.”

“A lazy day?” Aranea chirped amusedly. “You don’t have lazy days.”

“Well, today’s a lazy day,” he insisted, reaching in the drawer for some socks. He flopped onto the bed, pulling them on one foot at a time. “I’ll feed the chickens and stuff and then I’ll be inside, probably.”

“Hmm… Boring.” And with that she took to the air, flinging herself out the window without so much as another word.

Prompto raced down the stairs, then, one hand on the railing and the other on the wall. He sprinted to the main floor. A coat was shrugged on; shoes pulled into place unceremoniously. Before long he was out the door, closing it quickly behind him as Gilgamesh attempted to sprint past.

The chickens clustered immediately around his legs.

“They’re hungry today,” Aranea informed him quickly, perching on his shoulder.

Grinning at her, Prompto strode over into the coop and approached the feed bin, opening it quickly before reaching for the scoop. Filling the troughs by his feet, he watched as all the chickens raced toward the feed, clucking happily, Kiwi in the lead. His eyes slid over the birds for a short second before he made his way back out of the coop.

“That’s it?” Aranea chirped. “What about the eggs?”

“I’ll get them later. Lazy day,” Prompto reminded her, reaching for the door handle.

Taking flight, the bird scoffed at him. “This isn’t like you.”

He gave her a bare shrug before stepping back inside the house. The door closed firmly before him, nearly slamming into place. Boots were shucked quickly. His jacket was hung haphazardly, falling off the hook twice before he took the time to stop and slide the hood over the brass. Then he was up: the stairs; the second floor; in  _ Ignis room _ , standing over  _ Ignis’ bed _ fully clothed and breathing hard, not quite sure how to speak or think or react when blankets slid to the side to admit him into the sheets.

Blue eyes met green, and Prompto crawled into the bed beside Ignis with his lips in a thin, disbelieving line. A broad back faced him, and he spooned around it as if to engulf the older man entirely.

“Gladiolus told me you stood up to him,” Ignis said eventually, as the morning wore on and a sleepy laziness began to settle in their bones.

Teeth clamped nervously over a plump bottom lip.

“He apparently took exception to the fact that I kept your mother’s sexual orientation a secret from him. He thought he deserved ‘warning.’” He breathed a sigh. It was a long, anxious sound that hung in the air. “But really, what sort of business does he have, knowing that? Why is it valid? I asked him this, and I suppose that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.”

A pale arm wrapped around tanned shoulders, narrow hand settling against the curve of a far bicep in a tight embrace. His thumb moved softly with each breath, in and out, back and forth, stroking the skin as a stillness settled into the room.

Ignis nudged his arm into the touch. His head fell back, hair dragging softly against a freckled nose. Shifting back, his left hand settled on a thigh clothed by blankets and jeans, stroking it in time with the thumb against his arm. “We argued for a while after, but in the end I simply…” Another breath. Another sigh. Another moment that passed in tense silence as wind chimes rang in the distance. “In the end, I screamed at him that I liked men and he walked out.”

Burying his face in messy brown hair, Prompto breathed deep. He smelled for the first time a sweet hint of something fruit-sweet among the older man’s natural musk. A musk of basements and humidity and sweat. Maybe a fruity shampoo. It was strange being so close. “I’m sorry you had to come out that way,” he said after a long while, arm growing tight against Ignis’ front. “I’m sorry it had to happen.”

“I had to tell him eventually,” Ignis pointed out softly.

“Yeah, you did,” he agreed, voice a low rumble in his chest. “But it didn’t have to happen like that.”

…

It was several hours before they crawled out of bed. Several hours of tangled legs. Of thumbs stroking exposed skin and whispers of reassurance until Ignis suggested, “Shall we get some breakfast going?”

Prompto was reluctant to move. Reluctant to pull away from the warm, broad expanse of Ignis’ back. His heart thudded in his chest so hard we was afraid the older man could feel it. But as the moment stretched and awkwardness settled in, he pulled away. Sliding out of bed with a smile slapped on his face even as he wanted nothing more than the remain in that small single bed flush to Ignis forever.

They lazily made their way down the stairs after Ignis dressed, heading into the kitchen, only to bump into each other at every turn.

“You don’t have to help me,” Ignis insisted, hand shooting out to hold pale ones as they reached for the toaster. “Just sit back. Have your lazy day.”

“It’s your lazy day, too,” Prompto pointed out warmly. “I want to spend it with you.”

There was an expression that passed over thin lips at the words. Something sweet. Something affectionate.

Something that filled Prompto’s chest with warmth even as tanned hands drew away from his.

At that moment came a knock at the door, breaking the moment.

“That better not be the girl from the bakery,” Ignis drawled, lips falling in a frown as he strode away from the oven.

Prompto blinked. “Uh… Why?”

Ignis didn’t reply, instead brushing the door’s curtains aside to peer out the window onto the porch. His head tilted curiously as he reached for the knob, wrenching it quickly open. “Can I help you?” he asked.

Outside, a young girl stood ramrod straight, a broom floating at her side laden with a large suitcase. Around her neck twined a small snake, head comfortably tucked into her collar. “Is Gladiolus here?”

Prompto stepped up to the door, taking in Ignis’ pursed lips and the girl’s narrowed eyes.

“Gladiolus?” he repeated softly. “What business do you have with Gladiolus?”

“He’s my brother,” she informed him dryly.

“Iris?” It was a surprised sound. “Goodness, I hardly recognize you. Come in, come in!” Waving her into the house, Ignis pushed the door open wide, then stepped back with Prompto. He watched as Iris moved into the room, narrowly avoiding the table before settling her trunk on the floor.

“I mean, that makes sense. I was what? Five? I think I was five when we met. I’m thirteen, now. Practically an adult.”

Ignis held his tongue.

“So?” she prompted softly. “Where's Gladio?”

Pale lips pursed before he answered, hands wringing at his hip. “About Gladiolus,” he began hesitantly. “He's not… here.”

Iris blinked. “What? Is he at work or something?”

“Last night we had something of a row. He left and… To be honest, he hasn't come back.”

“A… fight?” Dark eyebrows shot up as Iris’ expression turned skeptical. “Going off all his letters I thought you were a really calm guy. What could you have fought about?”

“It's… a private matter.”

“Well…” Tongue drawing nervously over her lip, she glanced nervously from Ignis to Prompto, then back. “Do you at least have an idea of where he might be?”

Bangs wagging back and forth as he shook his head, hat absent, Ignis lowly admitted, “This has never happened before.”

Again, a small tongue drew over pink, glossy lips.

Stepping further into the room, Ignis allowed the side door to fall shut. “Have you eaten yet? It’s a long flight from Insomnia.”

She was hesitant at first, eyes once more darting from Ignis to Prompto and back before she settled into the seat Ignis had motioned towards; Noctis’ old seat. “So you don’t know where he is? Or when he’ll come back?”

“Haven’t the faintest,” Ignis replied lightly, turning to the stove.

“And you’re not worried?”

“Gladiolus can take care of himself.”

Brown eyes shifted, landing firmly at the table even as a plate of eggs and bacon was placed before her. “Do you…” she began softly, only to pause. Her gaze turned up, drawing to the man at the stove. “Do you mind if I stay with you a few days? At least until he comes back? I… I want to meet him.”

Ignis shifted, green eyes meeting brown as he smiled softly. “Of course I don’t mind. Family of Gladiolus is always welcome.”

“What do you mean, ‘meet’ him?” The words were out before Prompto could stop them, hanging in the air awkwardly.

Iris’ eyes turned to the table, then up to meet blue. “Gladio never came back from his pilgrimage,” she told him nervously. “I haven’t seen him since I was five.”

“You’re kidding.”

“She’s not,” Ignis put in. “Gladiolus never went home after he came here.”

“Why not?”

“Think about it for a moment. Have you once seen him leave?”

“I mean…” Prompto paused. “Fair.”

Leaning back in the chair until is squealed, Iris blew out a long sigh. “Well, if you ever find out why he never came back, let me know.”

Motioning toward Prompto’s seat, Ignis turned, plate in hand, toward the table.

Prompto fell into his seat quickly, thanking the older man warmly.

Across the room, Gilgamesh wandered in from the upstairs. He went straight for the back door, rising up on his hind legs to scratch at the wood.

Iris was up in a second, smiling wide. “Gilgamesh, right? I’ll let you out.”

Shoving his chair back, Prompto stepped into her path with a quick, “No, no. If you do that he’ll get at the chickens.”

“Chickens?” she repeated, voice high. “Why would he do that? This  _ is _ Gilgamesh, right?”

“Gilgamesh is a cat, Iris,” Prompto pointed out weakly. “His three paws can do a lot of damage.”

“He’s not a  _ cat _ , he’s a  _ familiar _ ,” Iris argued, voice halfway to a laugh. “And who even are you? What’s with you? I don’t know if you’re a witch, but if you are you should know they’re not just stupid animals.”

“Iris,” Ignis called, voice firm as the name fall from his lips like a curse. “Gilgamesh is just a cat.”

Silence.

It stretched as Gilgamesh nudged at the door with his head, giving a despondent  _ meow _ as chickens clucked beyond the door.

Iris turned to Ignis slowly then. Her hands fisted in the sides of her short skirt. There was something of a tremor in her shoulders as she spoke, even as her voice was calm and even. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Ignis’ stood firm, back ramrod straight even as his eyebrow gave a nervous twitch.

“How long?” she asked.

“Since his second month here,” was the slow admission.

Her cheeks puffed at this, hands flying into the air in a show of frustration. “That was  _ eight years ago! _ ” she spat.

Ignis remained quiet at her words, hands clenched firmly at his sides as stared the girl down.

“What the hell?” Iris spat at last.

“Language,” Ignis scolded.

“What the  _ Holy Hell _ ,” she threw in his face, stomping a foot angrily.

…

It was a while before the atmosphere calmed and Iris gave her consent to move her things to the second floor. Prompto was impressed with how heavy everything was. The trunk easily weighed as much as he did, the insides shifting solidly with the wooden frame, as if things were packed so tight that there was nowhere for them to go. After they managed to get it into the spare room, Ignis turned to Iris, his eyes all business. “If you don’t mind me asking, what, pray tell, is your talent?”

Iris shrugged, reaching for the catches of her trunk and flipping them quickly open, revealing a slew of clothes, boots and what looked like an extremely small sewing machine.

“Tarot reading,” she replied coolly, shrugging off her thick coat to change it out for a light jacket. She closed the trunk quickly, shrugging the article on as her gaze fell once more to Ignis.

“That’s very traditional of you.”

“Yeah, well…” She gave another shrug. It was a light thing. Detached. “We’ll see if it sticks. I’ve arranged to apprentice with Gentiana in Altissia. Altogether, I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a painfully average pilgrimage.”

A large nose scrunched at this. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing. There’s nothing wrong with having an expectable journey.”

“It’ll be so  _ boring _ , though.”

“Boring is  _ safe _ .” Ignis debated dryly. “Boring is  _ secure _ .”

“But I want an  _  adventure _ !” she argued firmly. “I want uncertainty and challenge!”

“Adventures are best had with the company of years of experience and a steady bank account.”

“Says the person who never left home,” she drawled.

Ignis flushed.

Immediately the smug line of her lips melted away into regret, eyes tight and cheeks growing red. “I didn’t mean that. There’s nothing wrong with running your parents’ shop.”

Prompto glanced between them, heart thundering nervously in his chest before he slapped his hands suddenly together, scaring even himself. “Well then, I’m going to work in the yard. Iris, would you like to join me?”

…

Arm full of hay, Iris strewed it across the coop floor before peeking out to fix her eyes on Prompto by the fallen tree. “This is what you do all day?” she asked, eyebrows screwing up.

Wiping a bit of sweat away from his eyes, Prompto allowed his ax to  _ thump _ to the ground, taking a quick, needy breath before he answered. “No,” he gasped softly. His hands fell from the handle of the ax, drawing a hand back to retrieve a small towel hanging from his rear pocket. He slapped it quickly against his face, patting his cheeks and neck dry. With a thick swallow he turned his attention back to Iris. “All day I run the shop, but since today’s Sunday the shop’s closed. I’ll probably check the plants after this, though.”

“You… really keep busy.”

“I have no choice,” he groaned, tucking the towel back in his pocket and reaching once more for the ax. Hefting it in his arms, he swung it deftly towards the fallen tree. “I can’t let Noctis down,” he grunted, arms snapping back to dislodge the ax. “He’d be really disappointed if I let one of them die. He raised most of them from a seed, you know?”

Dark eyebrows drew together sharply at this, glossy lips falling open in obvious surprise. “This was Noctis’ shop?” Slowly, she blinked. “Wait, that’s obvious. Don’t answer that.”

“You know Noctis?” Prompto asked. He laid his ax down once more, leaning his arms carefully against the wide base of the handle. His eye twitched as the wood pressed sharply into his skin, and he drew back.

“We live in the same compound,” she replied easily, shuffling to the side until her shoulder met the side of the coop. She leaned against it with a sigh, eyes darting to the shop.

“That makes sense.”

“We see each other a lot,” she continued. Then, expression pinching, she drawled, “Everyone says he’s going to marry the Oracle.”

“He is.”

Iris gave a huff at that. Her shoulders drew together, arms crossing before her chest as her lips twisted into a grimace.

Prompto watched her pout, a chill racing down his spine at the sight. The open display of discomfort that rolled off the girl in waves was something he wasn’t used to. He opened his mouth – perhaps to change the subject; perhaps to attempt lightening the mood – but what came out was a somber, “You like him, don't you?“

She shrugged. 

“You don't have to lie to me,” he insisted softly. “We’re all friends here.”

“I'll get over it eventually,” she insisted lowly.

Despite himself, Prompto grinned. “Well, he's a great guy. You have good taste.”

“Thanks?” She fixed him with a look. One that was unsure –  either of his words, or his intentions. “How well do you know him?”

Without the slightest hint of hesitation, he fired back a quick, “He’s my best friend in the world.”

“Do you think he’ll ever change his mind about Lunafreya?”

A laugh burst from him like a horn, startling both of them and half the chickens. As they hopped angrily about is feet, he shook his head firmly. “Sorry. Sorry, that was rude. But, uh… Noctis will never change his mind about Luna.”

Iris hummed, then uncrossed her arms. “Guess I better move on, then.”

“Probably a good idea.”

She laughed, then. It was a bitter sound. A hurt sound. Something that hit the air with notes of mourning and disappointment.

Prompto fought back the wave of  _ knowing _ that beat at his chest, prying at his eyes as if to open them to the world.

“What’s Ignis like? From your point of view,” Iris asked.

Blue eyes blinked. “My point of view?”

“Well, yeah. I only know you guys from Gladio’s letters, and he was obviously hiding a lot.”

“I mean… It’s his business to tell you about that stuff.”

“I know, which is why I’m asking about Ignis and not Gladio.”

They stood in silence for a bit before Prompto spoke. Before the words rolled off his lips one after the other like they were free falling through the air. “He’s a serious guy,” he began, voice soft. But as he went on his voice grew firm. “He takes everything to heart, you know? Everything he has goes into whatever he’s working on – even if it’s just a cup of tea. And if it doesn’t turn out the way he wants it to he’ll try again. He’ll do it again and again until he gets it right. He’s…” He paused, hands growing tight around the wooden handle. Something creaked, though if it was the his hands or the wood, he didn’t know.

“He’s a complicated guy,” he continued at last, eyes fixed on the fingers that had gone pale around the ax. “Takes care of everything. Spreads himself a bit too thin if you ask me. He’s… He’s sweet and affectionate, but has a bitter side. At least, I think so. Sometimes he doesn’t get things, or a concept escapes him, and he ends up… He gets this  _ look _ . It’s like he’s frustrated, but he won’t let himself show it.”

“Sounds like you like him.”

A sputter burst from chapped lips at the words.

“I’m not gonna make things hard on you,” she informed him, voice calm and even. Motioning to the snake coiled about her throat, she casually announced, “Bandersnatch wants you to know she’s gay. It’s perfectly natural.”

Slowly, almost reverently, Prompto’s head bobbed in a nervous nod.

As she squatted down to sit at the edge of the coop, Iris crossed her legs, fingers adjusting her skirt accordingly. “So do you think it’s gonna go anywhere?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, dropping the ax into the pile and joining her on the coop floor. He crossed his legs Galahd-style, leaning up against the wall Gladiolus had erected. “I’ve never really talked to anyone about this but Aranea. It’s… weird.”

“Aranea?”

“My familiar.”

Iris hummed. “Nice. It’s good you can talk to your familiar about this sort of thing. May I ask what she is?”

With a wide grin, Prompto answered with a bright, “Red canary.” Then, hopping quickly to his feet, he reached once more for the ax. “I’d better get back to splitting this wood.”

Iris laughed.

It was a few minutes later – a few minutes of banter and jokes and stories about Insomnia and Niflheim – when Aranea fluttered down from the rooftops and settled on Prompto’s shoulder, chirping in greeting. “Who’s your friend?”

Reaching for the splitting maul, Prompto nodded toward the girl with a soft grin. “Aranea, this is Iris, Gladiolus’ little sister. Iris, this is Aranea, my familiar.”

“Gladio’s little sister, huh?” the bird drawled. “Does she need a good scratch, too, or is she going to behave?”

“Can you come closer so I can look at you, Aranea?” Iris asked, holding out a hand.

The bird gave Prompto a quick look before she took to the air. She settled gracefully on the outstretched hand, awaiting Iris’ observation.

“Oh,” Iris breathed. “You are  _ beautiful _ .”

Turning back to the wood, Prompto lifted the ax high.

“Your feathers are red,” she continued behind him. “I’ve never seen a canary like you before.”

“She’s a popular type of pet in Niflheim,” Prompto informed her warmly, lifting his ax for another swing. At last the wood split, sending the wedged head into the stump below.

“Niflheim?” she repeated as he jerked at the ax. “Is that where you’re from?”

He was slow to answer, glancing back at the girl, then back to the stump with a wry twist of his lips. “Yeah,” he said at last, lifting his arms for another swing. “Yeah, I’m from the outskirts of Gralea.”

“I’ve never met anyone from Niflheim before. What’s it like?”

“What?”

“Another  _ country _ .”

“Aren’t you moving to Altissia?”

She huffed. “I just want a perspective, okay? Countries look different from an inside or outside point of view, right?”

Prompto’s lips pursed at this, eyebrows furrowing sharply as his hands itched around the ax handle to clutch at the hem of his shirt. But after three rounds of wood he finally paused, resting the ax against the stump and turning to the girl who looked eerily familiar, brown eyes sparkling beneath dark brows. “Niflheim different; that’s for sure,” he began firmly, fingers growing anxious at his sides, curling into and uncircling from his palms. “This streets are wider –  _ much _ wider – and there are more people packed together. The pharmacies are bigger, as are the grocery stores and malls.

“Everyone’s expected to have a TV, too. To watch the same shows. It’s… I don’t know. I guess you could call it commercialized. Everyone has to have an opinion about everything, and if you don’t people think you’re wishy-washy or don’t pay attention. You have to care about everything and nothing all at once.”

“Everything and nothing?” she repeated softly. “That sounds exhausting. No offense.”

“No, it is. I like Lucis better. There’s less…  _ baggage _ attached to everything.”

The smile Iris gave him in that moment was a sly thing. Lips twisted up at the edges, her head tilted playfully to the side as she announced, “You like Ignis better.”

A flush washed over Prompto’s face at the words, lighting his cheeks and staining his throat. Turning back to the stump, he set the next piece of wood to be chopped.

“Aren’t you done yet?” Iris asked. “You’ve chopped enough for an army.”

“We’ve got to have enough for winter, not to mention the All Hallows bonfire. The more I chop now, the less I have to do later.”

“True enough.”

…

They carved turnips that evening, hollowing them out and designing the scariest faces for the vegetable’s flesh. Surprising the others, Iris whipped out a toothy-grinned cat face that set them both on edge when a candle was placed inside.

“We can only hope the neighbors won’t complain,” was all Ignis had to say on the matter.

After their mess was cleaned up, they opened the side door, waving to their neighbors across the way as pumpkins were being placed on their porch. Only two of their own candles were lit before a body drew close, blacking out the light of the setting sun as it fell over the horizon.

Face turning curiously up, Prompto smiled as the girl who worked at the bakery came into view. “Hey!” he greeted warmly. “What brings you to this part of town?” He tried to ignore the eyes that were suddenly trained on him; suspicious brown and wary green.

The girl smiled, holding up a small box in offering. “We got a new tart in the shop specifically for Halloween. This was one of the testers. It’s a little burnt, but any feedback you have would be great.”

“New product?” he repeated, accepting the box. “What is it?”

“A pumpkin tart,” she replied quickly. There was a rush to her voice; an impatience that bled into her words as she half blurted, “Do you want to go Trick-or-Treating with me on Halloween?”

Slowly, Prompto blinked. “Trick-or-Treating?” he parroted.

“Yeah,” she breathed, pursing her lips for a short pause before barrelling on. “My, uh… My kid sister wants to and my parents are busy, so I was going to take her instead. I was just wondering if… you’d like to join us?”

With a soft sigh that eased out of him like the breeze that oozed down the street, Prompto shook his head. “I’m sorry – I can’t. I’ll be preparing for the bonfire around then.”

There was a slow, confused blink at this. “What bonfire?”

“The bonfire for All Hallows. We light it every year,” he began proudly. “That way the spirits of the dead can find their way back to us.”

“The… spirits of the dead,” she repeated, deadpan. “But I thought Halloween was already a witch holiday. Don’t you participate?”

“Not the way you do,” was Prompto’s warm reply, lifting the turnip in his hand to place it on display.

“What… What is that?”

“A smiling face! I mean… sorta. I’m not that great at carving,” he admitted. “But yeah. We use turnips, not pumpkins. Some witches use pumpkins, but we’re a little old fashioned. Not that we dance naked under the moon or anything. The beach is too public for that, and Iris is too young.”

She stood in silence for a second, expression hollow as her eyes flicked between Prompto and the grimacing turnip. “Okay,” she said. And that, it seemed, was that. She turned on her heel, striding quickly away from the house and down the street.

It was only after she turned the corner that Iris spoke, finger tapping at a thin, bare, freckled shoulder as she announced, “That was really smooth.”

Prompto blinked. “What was?”

“Your casual ‘I’m not interested.’”

Again, he blinked. “Wait. My… what?”

Brown eyes flicked from the road, then back to the man before her. “You’re kidding.”

“About what?”

By the door, Ignis snorted.

“ _ What _ ?” Prompto asked, louder. “What did I miss?”

The older man cleared his throat, shifting uneasily before answering with a low, “I was under the impression that she was asking you on a date.”

“What? No! It was just Trick-or-Treating with her little sister. It’s not a date if someone else is there.”

“You’re clueless,” Iris realized aloud. “You’re actually totally clueless.”

“I’m not! I mean…” Prompto paused, gaze turning to the turnip in his hand.

At their backs, a chuckle broke the air as a grin split Ignis’ lips.

Prompto turned, a frown plain on his face. “Why are you laughing?”

“No particular reason.”

…

Shells warm to the touch, the eggs weighed heavily in Prompto’s sore hands. A blister hugged the curve of his thumb, red and angry, bulging slightly. He hissed as he reached into the final cubby, arms sagging as he gave a soft groan. Placing the final eggs in the basket, he slowly made his way out of the coop, half hobbling into the house. The kitchen was silent when he arrived, casting curious eyes about the empty room. It was only after he finished washing the eggs that he called out, voice a low, hesitant whisper. “Ignis?”

Silence.

Placing the eggs in the fridge, he headed up the stairs, dodging Gilgamesh as he went. There was no sound on the second floor. The bedrooms were silent; the landing filled only with the creak of floorboards beneath socked feet and the distant wail of the ocean.

Approaching Ignis’ door, Prompto rapped his knuckles gently against the wood, leaning in close.

Nothing.

“Ignis?”

The only reply was the distant chime of the grandfather clock from the bottom of the stairs. Seven strikes – seven in the morning.

“Ignis?” he called again. “Ignis, is everything alright?”

Again, nothing.

Pushing open the door, blue eyes peered carefully into the room, slowly dragging from the dresser to the altar, then finally to the man tucked beneath a thick, fluffy comforter. He moved forward quickly, reaching for broad shoulders, only to freeze. Fingers inches from flannel pajamas, his gaze flicked from hands fisted in the sheets to a forehead beaded with sweat.

Beneath his slow, even breath, Ignis gave a soft moan.

Clearing his throat loudly, Prompto leaned back and announced a nervous, “Ignis, come on – it’s time to get up.”

Eyelids flickered, only to still. Louder, Prompto insisted, “Wake up! Just… wake up.”

Once more, silence.

Finally, Prompto reached forward, hand settling on a tanned shoulder to give the man a good shake.

Ignis jolted awake, eyes wide, sweat streaming down his face as he gasped for a sudden, desperate breath. He shot up, head nearly grazing Prompto’s on the way. His gaze cast about, eyes wide in alarm as his hands drew blankets protectively up to his chest.

Stumbling back, pale hands clutched at the hem of his black shirt as he managed a startled, “It’s just me!”

Much to his surprise, Ignis visibly calmed at the words. “Oh,” he croaked, throat raw with sleep. “Oh,” he said again, voice lower.

Prompto fiddled with his shirt, eyes casting askance before shifting back to Ignis. “Nightmare?”

“Of sorts,” came the terse reply. “What time is it?”

“Seven.”

Green eyes turned to the clock at the bedside. “That late already?” He frowned, reaching for the alarm. He observed it quietly before a sigh broke through the room. “Of course. I’d forgotten to wind it.”

“G- Good thing I was here to wake you, then,” Prompto pointed out warmly, rocking back onto his heels. His heart thudded in his chest; a gentle, happy beat to contrast the startled sprint it had been at only moments before. “It’s like we’re married.”

A laugh burst from Ignis at the words, lips twisted in amusement as the sound shook the air.

Shook the room.

Shook what little hope had been alive that morning right out of Prompto’s chest. He plastered a grin on his face, feeling for what seemed like the first time in years just how tiring and painful the simple act of  _ smiling _ was. His mouth opened, and it felt like a lie. “I’m gonna go freshen up. You’ll get some coffee in you. Can’t be a zombie for work.”

“I’ll be right down,” Ignis promised.

Retreating from the room, Prompto quickly made his way into the bathroom. Leaving the light off, he locked the door and turned the handles on the faucet until water splashed loudly in the sink. He collapsed onto the toilet. Buried his quickly reddening face into pale hands. Then, with a sob that shook his back and shoulders, he uttered a sharp, angry, “ _ Stupid _ ,” under his breath.

…

The shop was oddly quiet without Iris to fill the silence; his near constant companion over the weekend. It grew heavier and heavier until he eventually closed the shop for lunch, taking deep, calming breaths as he waded through the chickens to get to the house. There he found Ignis.

At the table with a letter in his hands, the older man turned slowly from the papers, expression a tight thing that darkened his eyes and drew his lips into a severe twist.

“What’s wrong?”

Barrelling through the shop door, Iris collapsed quickly on the nearest chair, attention firm on Ignis.

Green eyes turned to the lightly crumpled sheets, and Ignis began to read. “‘Dear Ignis,’” he began. “‘I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am for leaving the way I did. It was cruel and uncalled for.’”

Reaching for Ignis’ usual chair, Prompto settled into the seat with a grunt. His stomach felt like it was dripping out into his hips. A shiver raced up his spine.

Thin lips pursed before they continued. “‘I’m sorry I said what I did. I’m sorry I missed Prompto’s birthday. I’m sorry my bullheadedness has gotten us where we are now. It wasn’t my intention, but here we are. There’s no excuse.

“‘I’ve moved in with a friend for the time being. I’m looking for a place of my own, though. I’d like some space for the moment so don’t try to find me. I’ll send you my address when I’m ready to talk. I’m glad the shop is doing well enough that I can just leave, now. This wouldn’t have been possible a year ago.’”

“‘Possible?’” Prompto quoted softly. “So, what? He felt trapped here?”

“He likely felt guilty about wanting to leave,” Ignis supplied. “He’d been supporting the shop for too long to not have some sort of connection to it.”

Iris cleared her throat. “Uh… Any more?”

Ignis gave a slow nod before his gaze fell back to the letter, green eyes scanning the page for a moment before continuing. “‘Living in the woods is great. Small towns are nice and all, but nothing quite beats the smell of fresh pine in the morning.

“‘I’m not sure when I’ll be back. If I’ll be back. I feel like I burned a lot of bridges that day and I’m not quite sure I can rebuild them the way I am now. I don’t know if you need space, but I know that’s what I need. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to see you again. Until then, I’d rather us walk our own paths until I’ve had a chance to figure some stuff out. Sincerely, Gladiolus.’”

“What the hell?” Iris spat. “You have  _ one _ fight and he decides to leave town?”

Ignis slowly shook his head. “He’s a sensitive man, even if he doesn’t look it. Or act it.”

The girl huffed, collapsing back into her chair. Cheeks flushing an angry red, her head shook fiercely, hair fanning about her neck. “What am I supposed to tell my parents? ‘Sorry, I just missed him?’ They’re going to…” Lips pursed for a short moment before popping open once more, gloss shining bright beneath the incandescent lights. “What if they find out he doesn’t have his powers? They’ll be crushed. He was supposed to carry on the family line.”

“That’s not a question I can answer, I’m afraid,” Ignis told her honestly, dropping the letter to the table. His hands folded atop it, paper crackling beneath his wrists. “I can only suggest masking the truth until he is ready to confront them himself. This is not our secret to tell.”

A soft sigh broke the air as Iris leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. She glanced first to Prompto, then to Ignis. “So you want me to lie.”

The reply was a quick, firm, “Yes.”

Dark, shaped eyebrows arched momentarily before furrowing over brown eyes. “Well, guess I better get going, then. No point in staying if Gladio’s MIA.”

Prompto shook his head quickly. “But what about All Hallows?”

“I can celebrate with Gentiana after I arrive,” was her quick rebuttal. 

“If…” He cleared his throat. “I mean, if you’re sure. We’ll miss you.”

Rising quickly from her seat, chair squealing across the floor, she made for the stairs, scaling them quickly and leaving the two men alone.

Again.

…

The farewell for Iris was short and to the point. With her trunk tied to her broom and her snake wound about her neck, the young girl didn’t bother to wave them off as she shot into the sky, eyes on the compass in her hand.

After, Ignis and Prompto moved back into the kitchen, cleaning up the remnants of dinner.

Wiping a dish dry, Prompto offered a low, “I’m going to miss her,” before stowing the plate in the cupboard.

Ignis nodded quickly, handing him another. “I, as well.”

“She helped me with the chicken coop.” Brushing a lock of blond hair out of his eyes, he fixed the older man with a smile.

“Likewise; she gave me a new perspective on some potions.”

“Did she?”

“Yes, she did,” he replied. Ignis paused, then, breathing a sigh that whistled between his teeth as his hand sagged into the sink. “It was much like when you first joined us; so full of youth and boundless energy.”

“I wasn’t as helpful as her, was I?” Prompto teased.

With a slow shake of his head, Ignis breathed a laugh. “You are an invaluable partner, Prompto. I don’t say it enough, but I greatly appreciate your presence.”

Prompto felt a blush work its way across his cheeks at the words. “It’s… That’s nice to hear.”

“It’s true,” Ignis insisted. Then his hand slid across the table, the sleeve of his shirt hissing against the wood. His fingers were stilled chilled from the night air, cold and unusually pale against Prompto’s as he reached out to tangle their digits. “You are truly a joy to have around. I hope to make you more aware of that.”

Prompto’s mouth fell open, gaping down at where their hands met before his eyes drew up to meet green. But as his throat began to work around a semblance of a word, the grandfather clock gave a great chime down the hall, followed by a song of the time.

Hand drawing back, Ignis heaved a groan as he rose from his chair. “Well, time to get back to that potion,” he announced, stepping away from the table and making his way into the shop.

Blue eyes followed him out, pale brows furrowed in something like concentration before he climbed out of his own seat. Heading up the stairs, he closed the attic door behind him as he moved into his room. He scaled the final set of steps, collapsing upon his bed with a groan.

For a long time he simply laid there, fully dressed atop the blankets. It wasn’t until a voice rose from the depths of the room that he moved.

“You look like you had a long day,” Aranea noted from her cage.

Flopping onto his side, Prompto gave a groan in reply.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No,” he groaned into the sheets, only to turn his face toward the door with a tired, “Yes.”

Hopping out of her cage, Aranea fluttered over to the bed, settling on the headboard to stare down at her human. “What happened?”

“Ignis held my hand.”

For a long time, Aranea was silent. She stared down at the man at her feet for several minutes before her tail flicked in minor interest. “Did it seem like he was making a move?”

Thin shoulders gave a tired shrug. “I don’t know. I was freaking out too much to tell.”

“You’re far too into this man, Prompto.”

“I know. It’s a problem.”

…

A pressure, firm and sure against Prompto’s shoulder, was the first thing he felt the next morning. It was a round sort of feeling. Soft. Warm.

Slowly, his eyes opened. Slowly, blond lashes fluttered. Slowly, a narrow chest stuttered for breath. “Ignis,” he breathed as green eyes and prominent moles came into view. “What, uh-”

“It’s six-thirty,” Ignis interrupted softly, gaze flicking from Aranea’s blanketed cage, then to Prompto. “I figured it was my turn to wake you.”

Blue eyes blinked curiously before pink lips parted in a low satisfied, “Oh.”

Drawing back, Ignis blew a gentle sigh that whistled between his teeth. “Do you think you’ll have time for your jog? Or did I wait too long?”

Prompto’s lips pursed, then he shook his head. “ If it’s six-thirty it’s too late.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” he denied, pale hands coming up to wave off the apology. “You woke me up. That’s big enough. I’m the one who didn’t wind my clock.”

“What if I fed the chickens? Could you go on a run, then?”

Pale eyebrows arched at the words. “Uh…” he sputtered. “I mean, sure? Yeah, I’d be able to take a short one.”

“Consider it done, then.”

“But you have so much to do in the mornings.”

Ignis’ smile, then, was warm. Affectionate. Almost loving.

“Why else are we here but to take care of each other?” he asked.

“I-”

“It’s much like you said yesterday morning. I couldn’t help but laugh it was so appropriate,” he continued warmly.

A rock settled low in Prompto’s gut, throbbing with each solitary heartbeat as green eyes locked with his and pale thin lips parted in preparation to speak.

“It’s almost like we’re married.”

...

Prompto ran like a daemon was chasing him. He sprinted through town with only one thing in mind: to collect himself before he made a mess of himself at work. But with each step of his shoes against the pavement, a word echoed through his head.

_ Slap-slap. _

_ Mar-ried. _

_ Slap-slap. _

_ Mar-ried. _

It was a mantra; Ignis voice echoing through his ears like a promise. An accusation. Maybe perhaps even a threat.

It felt like a threat.

Prompto stopped before the shop at long last, whipping out his inhaler and taking a quick, desperate breath from it before unlocking the door and stepping in. The bell gave a small jingle as he passed, ringing cheerfully above his head as he locked it and moved to the back of the room. Sweat dripped from his arms, trailing down from his pits in cold, fat drops.

Sliding behind the plant quarantine curtain at the back of the shop, Prompto reached into a small box to retrieve a set of clean clothes. Once they were situated on a clean bit of counter, his hands turned to his shirt. It was stripped off quickly, followed by his pants and socks, shoes kicked off to the wayside. It was when he reached for the deodorant that there came a clack and the echo of footsteps on tile.

“Prompto?” Ignis, voice low and hoarse.

“I’m changing,” he announced calmly, running the deodorant along his pits.

The footsteps drew closer. Then the curtain was pushed aside. A small black hat stuck through the fabric. “You forgot this.”

Pale fingers snatched it up quickly – a nervous, “Thanks,” on pink lips – as the curtains split and green eyes came into view. Then…

Then they wandered. Down, then up, then away.

The curtains were snapped shut, but not before the sight of Ignis’ heated, almost unfamiliar gaze racking up pale, flushed skin was burned into Prompto’s mind.

He could hardly breathe. “What-” he began, only for his voice to squeak as if he were in the midst of puberty. He cut out, lips pursing as his hands clutched the hat close to his chest.

“Yes?” Ignis asked, otherwise silent behind the curtain. There was no click of footsteps. No rustle of fabric. Simply the in and out of breaths a touch too fast.

“Did you just…” He paused again, unsure even as the words left him second later. “Did you just check me out?”

“Yes. I did.”

“Did you mean to?”

“I did not.”

Tongue drawing slowly over chapped lips, Prompto saw his hands reaching for the curtain. Watched as they drew it aside as if on autopilot.

Green eyes flicked toward him, wide in open shock as dark eyebrows arched.

Standing before Ignis in nothing but his underwear, Prompto felt his anxiety melt away as dark lashes fluttered. A lifetime of staring in the mirror no longer seemed to matter. He didn’t think of the stretch marks along his hips, or the small pouch of excess skin at the base of his stomach that would only ever disappear with surgery. He didn’t think of his freckles or the ribs poking through his skin, each bone painfully visible. He didn’t think about his body. All there was… was Ignis.

Ignis, whose eyes raked over his skin with open confusion. Fondness. Amazement. Perhaps even love. But that might have been the hope that burned in Prompto’s chest like a raging All Hallows bonfire.

Slowly, pink lips parted in a surprisingly brave, “Like what you see?”

Green eyes met blue, and Ignis’ mouth broke into a soft, shy smile. “I…” he began, gaze sliding back along pale skin before he attempted once more. “I do believe I do, yes.”

Prompto couldn’t breathe. His chest froze as they seemed to grow closer. His ears told him of footsteps. His eyes told him of tanned skin and a neat vest growing closer. His nose spoke of cologne, sharp yet musky, drifting through the air. His cheek, though – his cheek sang. It burst into an aria of warm fingers and calloused palm - rough from hours and hours with knives and ladles and other tools – that slid across his skin, sending electricity skittering madly along every bit of him until he could hardly tell what direction was up.

As he took a shaky breath, lungs starved for air, the fingers moved. They slid from his cheek to his jaw. From his jaw to his chin. Then, dragging along a freckled cheek and past a sensitive ear, strong, tanned fingers tangled in wayward blond spikes.

“You’re quite… striking,” Ignis confessed, voice low. “Quite beautiful.”

“Just  _ kiss _ him already.”

Prompto glanced up, spying a familiar red canary perched on the curtain bar, peering down at them with her beady black eyes.

“Is that Aranea?” Ignis asked, a smile in his voice.

His head bobbed in agreement. “Y-Yeah.”

“What did she say?”

“She said…” Prompto paused, swallowing thickly as his gaze turned on Ignis.

On the bar, Aranea’s head bobbed curiously to the side.

“She said it’s time to open shop.”

“Lies and slander,” Aranea chirped.

Prompto resisted the urge to lean into the touch of calloused hands; to turn his face toward the curve of tanned fingers and press his lips to what skin he could find. Instead he shifted away. Taking a firm step from the man before him, hope growing chill in his chest as anxiety rose like a demon in his stomach, twisting and turning. “You should go,” he muttered, eyes and hands drifting to the small pouch of excess skin on his stomach. He nearly gripped it. His fingers brushed over the soft, wrinkly skin as if to grab it like the hem of his shirt, only to twist the hat in his hands. “We need to open the shops.”

There came the flutter of wings on the air, then the click of shoes.

“Right. I’ll…” Ignis paused, clearing his throat. “I’ll just… I’ll leave you be.”

Footsteps, one after the other, faded into the distance.

The door closed.

And Prompto was alone.

Falling to his knees, his arms twined around his legs, rocking from heel to toe as he muttered to himself. His voice was soft; angry. “What did you do, what did you do…”

Eventually he rose. Eventually he dressed. Eventually he opened the shop.

…

Prompto skipped lunch that day.

…

“Are you hungry?” Ignis asked when Prompto came in through the back door that night.

Pale hands waved him off. “Too nauseous. I’m going to bed early.”

“... If you’re sure.”

The first words out of Aranea’s mouth when he got to the top of the stairs were a sharp, bitter, “What did you do?”

Prompto crawled into bed without a word.

“Have you taken your meds?” she asked.

“Yes,” was the short reply.

The bird was quiet after this, her fixed stare appraising as she watched over her human. Then, after a few minutes of silence, she took to the air, settling before the man’s face with a little hop. “You can pet me, if you want,” she offered.

Slowly, Prompto shifted, reaching slowly forward to draw his fingers slowly along dark red feathers. “Thanks, Aranea.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not today.”

“Then when?”

“Tomorrow, maybe.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

…

They didn’t talk about it.

…

With the rain cascading around him too thick to see more than a few feet at a time, Prompto pulled his poncho tight around himself as he made his way up the street. Wind whistled past his ears. The ocean crashed loudly, audible despite the distance. Over the hill, beyond his line of sight, lightning streaked through the sky, followed closely behind by a crack of angry thunder.

Racing up to the side of the house, Prompto yanked the door open with a grunt, stepping onto the welcome mat but refusing to move much further.

Ignis was there in an instant, holding out towels to the man dripping all over the entrance of his kitchen. “Well?” he asked. “What did the radio say?”

Prompto shook his head. Peeling off the poncho, he reached for the offered towel with a sigh. “Nothing’s getting through on the radio, but Mr. Crowe said it’s just going to get worse. No one’s going outside in this; it’s too dangerous. He suggested closing shop and pulling the shutters out.”

There came a slow nod, then a soft, “If Mr. Crowe thinks we should close then it’s for the best that we do.”

Glancing down at the poncho in his hands, Prompto sighed. “Guess I shouldn’t have taken this off, then.”

Ignis laughed, then reached for his coat.

They made quick work of the shutters, tugging hinges and locks into place before dripping their way back into the house. Peeling off his poncho, Prompto made a beeline for the towels, grabbing up a bright blue one for himself and giving his face a good pat.

Ignis joined him quickly, breathing a low sigh. “It seems All Hallows may have to be cancelled,” he noted as he reached for his own towel, draping it about his neck. Shoes squishing, protesting every step, he made his way around the table to the fire. Taking the poker firm in hand, he gave the logs a quick prod. “What would you say to some tea?”

“I could use some tea,” Prompto agreed quickly. “Do you want me get the candles, though? The least we can do is invite your parents in.”

Another shake of the head was his answer. “Without the bonfire it just wouldn’t make much sense, I’m afraid,” he sighed, rising from the fireplace and gravitating toward the stove. “Not to mention this storm.”

Slowly, Prompto nodded. Their eyes turning toward the stairs, he shifted uneasily. “I’ll get the second story windows,” he announced. Then, without another word, he scaled the stairs to the second level. He closed the window shutters quickly, shivering as rain streaked down his freshly dried arms and thunder cracked in the distance.

He worked through the rooms until he ran out. Then, racing up the stairs into the attic, he turned to Aranea’s blanketed cage. Sliding off the fabric, he greeted his familiar with a warm, “Good morning!” that felt hollow even to his ears.

Aranea glanced from his wet hair, to the window, and back. “You’re going to catch your death.”

“Don’t talk like Ignis; it’s weird,” Prompto accused. Racing over to his dresser, he pulled out a set of dry clothes with a sheepish grin. “You’ve got a point, though.”

“I always have a point,” the bird preened.

Shaking off his soaked sock, Prompto paused. Then, climbing on to his bed as carefully as he could manage in his wet clothes, he closed the storm windows.

“Guess I’ll be in my cage all day.”

“So will I,” Prompto pointed out.

“Your cage is bigger,” Aranea pointed out. “Did you feed the chickens?”

“Fed ‘em, watered ‘em, and apologized for the rain,” he replied cheerfully.

Lifting a wing, Aranea began to preen with a sigh, “Good.”

Prompto turned back to the dresser with a snort. Peeling off his wet clothes, he dropped them in the hamper before setting into the dry set. He admired himself in the mirror – soothing the shirt over the flap of loose skin on his stomach self-consciously – before heading back downstairs.

Setting out two steaming mugs, Ignis glanced up at Prompto with renewed interest. “Ah, yes. Dry clothes. That’s a marvelous idea. Wouldn’t want to catch my death.”

Prompto tried not to laugh, settling in his usual seat and selecting a mug for himself.

Striding toward the stairs, Ignis scaled them quickly before returning a spare few minutes later, clad in warm pajamas.

“Someone got comfy.”

“Yes, well, the shop isn’t likely to open today. Not to mention the state of my laundry basket. I’ve fallen behind.”

“You? Fall behind on laundry?” Prompto gaped. Settling his elbows on the table, his lips broke into a nervous grin. “Oh, this has to be a story.”

Green eyes turned up sharply. “Pardon?” he asked, mouth falling open wide as his eyebrows arched.

“Well, there’s gotta be a reason you’re behind,” he replied quickly. “This is kind of your forte. You never fall behind on housework.”

“I wouldn’t say  _ never _ .”

“Well I would.”

Ignis shifted, gaze sliding to the mug in his hands before turning slowly back to Prompto. “I’ve been… distracted.”

“Distracted by what?”

“By… Gladiolus.”

Blue eyes blinked, blond lashes falling and rising with clear surprise. “What do you mean? He’s not even here.”

“Well,  _ yes _ , but if you  _ must _ know I’ve… I’ve read his letter approximately twelve times at this point.”

“Ignis, that’s not healthy.”

“I  _ know _ , but I’ve had… I’ve had  _ feelings _ for him, Prompto. Not friendly emotions – emotions that would be appropriate – but  _ different _ ones.  _ Romantic _ ones.”

“... So we’re finally talking about this?”

Quickly, green eyes shot up. “What?”

“I’ve known for a while,” Prompto admitted.

“A while?”

“Years,” he answered softly. “Pretty much since I moved in.”

Ignis expression fell, lips twisting anxiously as his attention fixed firmly on the mug in his hands. “O- Oh”

“It’s why I…”  _ never made a move _ .

“Why you never what?”

Turning his face away, Prompto shook his head. “I just… gave you space.”

“... Space to what?”

“To… make your move.”

There came a sigh; a low, exasperated sound that filled the room like the deafening crash of thunder that rolled through the house, rising above the hiss of the heavy rain. “Prompto, that was the last thing I needed.”

“But you wanted it.”

“The desire was apparently unrealistic,” Ignis fired back. “Imagine what a mess I would be in if I  _ had _ made a move and he left like he had. Imagine how broken up I’d be. I’d barely keep myself together.”

“But you’re not keeping yourself together,” Prompto pointed out. “You’re oversleeping and forgetting small things like your alarm clock and…” He paused, fingers reaching for the hem of his shirt, then dragging them back up to the mug before him. “It’s the little things with you. You don’t like to let on when you’re not okay. You used to be so obvious about it, but now you’re older and you’ve gotten better at hiding it.”

Ignis’ lips pursed at the words, then opened, then closed. Finally, he took a long sip of his tea.

“You want your privacy and I respect that,” Prompto continued, voice low, “but you need to know I’m here to take care of you when you can’t.”

“I’m not that kind of man.”

“Everyone needs help sometimes.”

Ignis breathed another sigh. Then, with a quick glance towards Prompto, he confessed a high, “I feel like my whole friendship with Gladiolus was a sham.”

“It wasn’t a sham,” Prompto argued. “He’s your best friend.”

“And yet I never told him of my taste in men until I had to use it against him in an argument.”

“You didn’t feel safe.”

“I never feel safe.” It came out as a broken hiss. A cracked set of words that almost didn’t make it past thin, chapped lips.

Slowly, blue eyes blinked. “What?”

“I’ve never felt safe here,” he admitted once more. “Since I was a young boy I knew I was different. Not just as a boy interested in other boys, but a witch. A green witch, at that. Have I ever told you that potion making is a dying art?”

“No.”

“Well, it is,” he drawled. Leaning back in his chair, his eyes turned to the ceiling. “Since modern medicine is such a hit, there aren’t many people I can talk to about the trade. Kimya is a rare soul; an expert in the field. I’m lucky to have her as an acquaintance.”

“... I feel like there’s a ‘but’ in there,” Prompto commented.

Eyebrows arched in amusement. “But,” he admitted slowly, “one person does not fill one’s world. Just like one person doesn’t have the power to give me confidence that the town won’t turn on me if I came out.”

“... Oh.”

“Despite your excellent companionship, Prompto, your presence doesn’t cure by worry. My fear. My…  _ nightmares _ .”

“You have nightmares?” he squeaked.

Ignis’ answer was a quick, all-too-sure, ”Almost every night.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Yes, well…” He paused, taking a quick sip of his tea before continuing. “We all have our own rooms. How could you?”

Prompto had no reply to this.

Finishing off his mug with a grand swoop of his arm, Ignis stood and turned quickly to the sink. “What about you?” he asked, reaching quickly for the tap. He nodded his head toward the younger man in a show of interest. “Now that All Hallows is cancelled, do you think you’ll be taking up the bakery girl on her offer of spending time together?”

Pale eyebrows screwed up at this, pinching and drawing toward feathered bangs. “What?” he gasped, shocked.

“Trick-Or-Treating aside, she did show quite a bit of interest in you.”

“No, Iggy. Just… No.”

“Come now; don’t be coy. She’s perfectly nice.”

“I’m not being  _ coy _ , I’m just  _ not interested _ ,” Prompto snapped, fingers growing tight around his mug. “Just drop it, would you?”

Pale lips pursed as green eyes turned on the younger man, then back to the mug in the sink. “I thought…” He paused. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have.”

Gaze firm on the slowly filling mug, Ignis was slow to reach for the faucet. The water spilled into the sink long before his fingers closed around the handle. Only once the tap was off did he turn, attention not quite fixed on the man before him – instead somewhere far off – as he asked, “Would you like to know a secret?”

Narrow shoulders shrugged dismissively. “Sure. Why not?”

Stepping away from the sink, Ignis settled back into his chair. A puff of air escaped him as he did, filling the room with a sort of suspense.

By the stairway, the grandfather clock ticked a steady beat, pendulum swinging neatly back and forth.

Fingers drawing together to steeple before his chin, Ignis began with a low, “For the last few years I’ve had this… fantasy.”

“... Fantasy?” Prompto repeated when the man made no move to continued.

“Of growing up,” Ignis resumed, voice soft. “Growing old, specifically. Reaching a ripe old age with Gladiolus none-the-wiser to my sexual preferences. But I suppose in the end it was nothing more than that – a fantasy.”

Swallowing a lump that had formed in his throat, Prompto shook his head. “Sounds more like a nightmare to me.”

“Yes, well…” Clearing his throat, Ignis’ hands split, arms crossing defensively against his chest. “As the saying goes; One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

“Yeah, but you deserve better than that.”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“You do,” Prompto insisted. Hand drawing away from the mug, he made a show of reaching for Ignis’ arm, giving him plenty of time to pull away. As his hand slid along the slick sensation of silk – a new shirt; a  _ nice _ shirt that suited Ignis far better than cheap cotton – he felt a grin slide into his cheeks. “You deserve everything,” he insisted, voice hardly a breath. “You deserve everything and more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost there! The next chapter is where the magic happens, guys! (Pun only partially intended.)


	12. Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, everyone. The chapter you've all been waiting for.

Snow drifted to the ground in small puffs of white as Prompto descended from the trees, eyes fixed on the modest cabin tucked among the foliage. His winter coat was done up tight; his scarf tied on with a shoelace. The snow had piled high on the ground, nearly a foot in some places, and he glanced from side to side in an attempt to find the smallest drifts. As his boots slid into the white piles, there came a squawk from the trees.

Emerging from the cavern of fabric in the man’s chest, Aranea lit upon the end of the broom and leveled her voice at the murder of crows lining the gutters of the cabin. “Go on, insult him again!” she chirped. “I bet I could take out a few organs before you finish!”

The murder fell silent at the threat, with only a bare few “ _caw_ ”s to fill the silence.

“Huh,” Aranea huffed, flitting from the broom to Prompto’s shoulder. “They learn faster than your chickens.”

“That’s, uh, good,” Prompto replied weakly. Adjusting the front of his coat with gloved hands, he jumped as a body shuffled behind him.

Finger tapping at the dark, heavy coat before her, a woman in her thirties leaned forward on the broom with a low, “Is it safe to get off?”

“Uh. Yeah,” he agreed quickly, allowing the broom in his hand to drift low until it nearly brushed the ground.

Vaulting her leg over the wooden handle, the woman motioned to the cabin. “This is it,” she announced. Heavy gloves were slid deftly from her hands before she reached for the official-looking satchel hanging from a stocky shoulder, emerging seconds later with a pair of soggy letters. “Thanks again for the ride.”

“No problem,” Prompto replied quickly. “How… How long have you known the guys?”

She laughed, head throwing back to toss her long black hair, exposing a long, thin neck to the elements before she retreated into her large coat like a turtle. “It must be about twelve years, now. I used to visit Ignis and his parents with Kimya before I was moved to full time at the post office. I’ve only met Noctis once, though.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

“You’re the one who lives with them,” she pointed out amusedly. “It really is nice to meet you. _At last_ , I thought. The boys talk about you a lot in their letters.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Crowe.”

Her smile was a crooked thing. One eye squinted and the other wide open, she motioned toward the cabin. “Let’s deliver this mail, shall we?”

The nod he had to offer was a bare imitation of enthusiasm. As the woman made her way up the steps to the wide front porch, Prompto waddled stiffly behind her, eyes wide behind his goggles.

Striding confidently up to the door, Crowe lifted her fist and knocked insistently.

It opened before long, giving way to a man with a thick, curly beard speckled with flecks of paint. The spatters trailed all down his front, highlighting a dark smock and tattered pants. “Hey Crowe.”

Gladiolus.

He looked so… _relaxed_.

Prompto stood stock still as the mail changed hands. As damp envelopes were examined and discussed – “Why are they so wet?” “Because that’s how we got them.” – blue eyes closed against the sight, recalling with sudden clarity a letter of his own. Of a stiff hand sliding through freshly highlighted hair and Ignis’ voice breathing a soft, almost desperate, “He’s right. You should be the one to go.”

And so he went.

Eventually the familiar pair of brown eyes turned to him, only to flick away quickly. “Who’s your friend?” he asked.

“He’s your friend, actually,” was Crowe’s nonchalant reply as she redid the straps of her postal bag.

Gladiolus glanced between them, surprised, only for his gaze to linger on the broom in Prompto’s hand. “It’s only been a few months, but you’ve gotten taller,” he noted.

“So have you,” was Prompto’s reply, squeezing nervously from his throat. Reaching for his goggles, he slid them carefully up his face and onto his hand, lips twisted into an uneasy grin as he stared up at the man who filled the entire cabin doorway. “You’re a giant.”

“Six-foot-six,” Gladiolus offered. “It’s gotta be the fresh air.”

Eyelashes falling against her cheeks, Crowe’s head shook, ponytail wagging behind her. “I’m going to head out and finish my route. You two have a good visit!”

Before she could step away, Gladiolus cleared his throat. “Would you like some coffee before you go?” The words were firm; confident; hopeful. They slid through the air easily to fill Prompto’s ears, inviting a soft, feminine laugh.

“Well, I guess I’m ahead on my route. A cup wouldn’t hurt.”

Stepping back into the cabin, Gladiolus waved them both in, holding the door open until they shuffled into the hose. Then he closed it, blocking out the whistle of wind and the gentle drift of snow. “So how’d you two make an acquaintance?”

“Prompto here was lost on the road,” Crowe supplied quickly. “I offered to show him to your place if he helped me do some stops with his broom.”

“Ever the opportunist,” Gladiolus drawled.

“That’s me! Now, where’s that coffee?”

Waving her off, Gladiolus stepped over to a narrow hearth, fire burning pleasantly within.

As the older man fiddled with a bucket of water and a kettle, Prompto looked around. There was a wide mattress slapped in the middle of the cabin, which was all one room. It was riddled with blankets and pillows. They had been thrown haphazardly into place, exposing the mattress in many places, twisted and unkempt. The kitchen – makeshift as it was – was a mess, as well. Pots and pans hung in no particular order from a wire frame, though most of their siblings were strewn along the lone counter.

Yet the majority of Prompto’s attention was called to the walls.

Jars.

So many jars.

They lined the shelves of the room, overflowing onto the floor and filling whatever space wasn’t being used for daily function. They were filled with a multitude of things: plants, animal bits, and even paint. Most of that, though, had been clustered in the corner opposite the door, huddled around an easel prepped with a canvas and laden with brushes.

Gladiolus had taken up painting.

“You can set your things by the bed.”

Prompto glanced around, surprised to find Gladiolus handing Crowe a steaming mug.

Large hand motioning to the mattress, the older man prompted him again with a soft, “Go on.”

“I’ll drink quick,” Crowe drawled as a heavy bag was dropped beside a pile of blankets. “Whatever you guys have to talk about, it must be important.”

“You don’t have to leave immediately,” Gladiolus protested. “Enjoy your coffee.”

“No, no.” She shook her head slowly, then took a large gulp from the mug. “I’ve got work to do, anyways. Mail won’t deliver itself.” Settling the mug onto a small bit of free counter, she zipped her coat back up and made for the door. “Maybe I’ll drop by after your guest is gone. Watch you paint for a bit. Who knows?”

“I’d like that.” Gladiolus’ voice was soft at these words, barely carrying enough to be heard.

Prompto watched the interaction closely. Watched the clasp of hands and the closing of the front door before Gladiolus stepped over to the canvas and began to pack up his brushes.

“I wasn’t expecting you for another few weeks,” he admitted loudly. “You must have left immediately after getting my letter.”

“Yeah,” came the firm reply. “I did.”

“That’s nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah. I, uh…” Gladiolus cleared his throat. “I wasn’t sure you guys would be willing to talk to me again.”

“Yeah, well, you and us both.”

Large hands stilled against the brushes at this, only to place them carefully into a wrap.

“When we got your letter we couldn’t really believe it at first; why you’d asked me to come instead of Ignis.” Wandering over to the wall, Prompto peered carefully at a dried bit of lizard skin before making his way to the center of the room.

Gladiolus remained silent.

Slowly peeling off his coat, Prompto dropped it to the mattress, along with his goggles and hat. Then, striding up to the older man, he crossed his arms. “Why didn’t you ask him? He’s your best friend.”

“It’s because he’s my best friend that I can’t,” was the honest reply. “I don’t want to mess this up any more than I already have.”

“So I’m the test run?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm…” Prompto blinked, then glanced around again, eyes landing on a small dead toad in a jar of fluid. “Iris dropped by.”

Brown eyes turned up, wide. Almost scared.

“She wanted to see you.”

“Dammit,” Gladiolus hissed, running a hand nervously through his dark, messy bangs. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“She’s thirteen. Just started her pilgrimage. Even stayed with us a few days before moving on. She’s very responsible.”

“ _Dammit_.”

“She figured out you don’t have powers and she’s keeping it a secret.”

Gladiolus’ eyes closed against the news, lips parting in an anxious breath before pinching sharply together.

Prompto watched him respond before continuing with a dry, “Gilgamesh went missing.”

There was a laugh, bitter and dark, before Gladiolus drawled, “Guess he got tired of waiting, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You have _nothing_ to be sorry for.” It came out as an angry burst of words that filled the entire cabin. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

A long silence settled between them, then. One that stretched and stretched until it snapped with a high, “What are you going to do with all these jars and stuff, anyways?”

Hands settling on his hips, Gladiolus sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll sell them to Ignis. I was going to see about working something out with Kimya, but she already has a new apprentice to get her samples for her.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure Ignis would be interested.”

“I hope so. I can’t live on savings forever,” the older man snorted, striding around Prompto to half collapse atop the mattress. “Let me tell you; it’s so nice to have a messy room.”

“Really?”

“I’m a big guy, you know? I like spreading out. But when you’re in a house with Ignis there’s always this subtle judgement if you’re taking up space that doesn’t need to be taken. It’s all about _efficiency_. But he won’t say anything about it. It’s just a look he gets in his eye that guilts me into keeping everything clean and tidy.”

Prompto frowned. “I’ve never had that problem.”

“Well of course you haven’t. You’re his favorite. Ifrit forbid you ever do something wrong in his eyes.”

Prompto shook his head. “No. No; _you’re_ his favorite. That’s, like, obvious.”

His answer was a scoff. “Just because I’m his best friend doesn’t mean I’m his favorite.”

They were quiet after this, shifting uneasily in their respective spots before Gladiolus rose from his seat with a groan. “Why don’t we make some tea? This conversation is best had with a nice cup.”

“You sound like Ignis.”

“Shut up and put your coat back on.” Snatching up a waterskin from beside the fire, he motioned for Prompto to follow as he headed out the door. “Come on; the pump’s out back.”

Bending to snatch up the article in question, Prompto stumbled after the taller man, tugging it on as he dodged between jars that had been scattered across the floor. He shivered as the door was opened and a wall of cold slapped him in the face. The cabin was warm, he realized belatedly.

Gladiolus took them around the side of the cabin and into the back. “We gotta pump the water out of the well, here. There’s no fancy faucets like in the city. Oh – and the outhouse is over there if you need to go.”

Cautious eyes followed the line of a thick arm as it pointed to a tall structure in the distance. “Uh… Cool. Rustic.”

“That’s just the way it is out here,” Gladiolus agreed, reaching for a long-handled pump before a small concrete bath. He gave it a solid push, but when no water came out he sighed. Lifting the waterskin with his free hand, he uncapped it with his teeth before pouring it over the pump.

“What’s that?” Prompto asked.

“Warm saltwater to defrost the gears,” Gladiolus replied. “Some people around here use whisky, but whisky has some  better uses if you catch my drift.”

“Uh… Sure.”

“Anyways, hope you like well water. Rich in iron. It’s not for everyone.” And with that, he poured the waterskin over the pump.

Before long they were carrying buckets of water back to the cabin, shivering in their boots.

“You’re suited to this,” Prompto noted as they settled the buckets before the fire. “Rough living. I think it’s a good match.”

With his beard dotted with paint and a kettle in his hand, Gladiolus laughed. “You know what? I find myself thinking the same thing.”

…

Tea was a quiet affair, despite the earlier implication that they would talk. Instead they sat in silence on the mattress in their pajamas as the light from the sun crept lower in the windows.

When they settled into bed, Prompto took a moment to reach into his bag and pull out a stack of photos. “Here. I want you to have these.”

“What are they?” Gladiolus asked even as he took them.

“They’re just some shots from around town. I thought you’d want something to remind you of home, you know?”

Gladiolus laughed as he went through the photos, eyes pinched at the corners and lips twisted into a grimace. “Trying to remind me of what I left behind?”

“Not really. Just an invitation for you to visit.”

The older man moved to answer, then. His mouth dropped open but no sound fell out as his fingers flipped to the next print.

A print of the sun setting on the beach with the sky fading to blue and stars.

…

Long after dinner – after dishes were left on the counter and they had changed into their pajamas – Prompto and Gladiolus laid in bed for a long time, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Outside, the crows had settled in for the night. Aranea was no doubt among them, nestled between black bodies huddled against the cold in the nests that lined the roof.

It was nearly an hour before Prompto spoke. Before he opened his mouth with a solitary, “I,” that earned him a jump from the man at his side. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You’re fine,” Gladiolus insisted quietly. “What’s going on?”

“I was just… I wanted to tell you something. You know; before we say anything else on the topic.”

“Go ahead.”

Prompto flushed, fingers sliding beneath the covers to grip the exposed edge of the mattress. “I just… I want to you know that I like guys. Romantically, that is. I’m… I’m not straight.”

Off to the side, Gladiolus shifted. He was a wall of warmth in the bed, heating the blankets almost to the point where they had to peel off layers. As he moved, the sheets shifted. They hissed, tugging off to the side until the man stilled, his back firmly facing Prompto as his expression flitted between panic and joy. “That’s cool,” he said, voice deceptively calm. “Thanks for trusting me with that.”

“N- No problem,” Prompto replied, voice shaking.

“Let’s get some sleep.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

After that, Prompto fell asleep quickly, flat on his back with his arms across his chest. Gladiolus, however, remained awake. His eyes fixed on the wall in the distance, gaze sliding over jars and waiting canvases until his lids eventually drooped and his breathing grew deep and even.

…

As morning dawned with a thick fog that glowed eerily in the bright light of the sun, leaving the sky an ominous white, Prompto pulled on his thick coat and boots.

Across the room, Gladiolus stirred. “Where are you headed?” he groaned.

Pink lips split in an amused grin. “Morning jog,” was the immediate answer. “What are you up to?”

“Today? Not much,” came the soft admission. Brown eyes turned on the man in his entryway, curious. “Mind if I join you?”

“I don’t mind at all,” was Prompto’s quick reply. He watched as Gladiolus crawled out of bed, pulling coats and pants over his pajamas without care. “Would you mind leading the way? You know the area better than I do.”

The fog had grown even thicker by the time they finally made it outside, but snow no longer drifted from the sky like it had the day before. Gladiolus set a brutal pace through what little bare ground there was, leading them quickly to a well loved path through the trees. Their breath puffed before them like chimneys as they ran, Prompto making an effort to keep close in the poor conditions.

It was only when they approached a felled log that they slowed; that Gladiolus glanced back at Prompto – huffing and puffing along – and his footsteps drew to a pause. “Didn’t think I was in better shape than you.”

Collapsing onto the log, Prompto gasped out a high, “You’re kidding, right? You are _the_ shape. Don’t pretend you aren’t some Altissian Statue or something.” Gloved hand diving into his pocket, he retrieved his inhaler. It was quickly pressed to lips red from exertion. Squeezed. After a sharp breath, Prompto slid it back into his coat, fabric hissing against his gloves.

Gladiolus blew a snort, flush high in his cheeks. “You saying I’m hot?” he asked. Striding over to the log, he collapsed beside the younger man, arms crossing atop his knees.

Blond lashes fluttered, shocked. “I-”

“You _can_ say gay stuff, you know.” The suggestion came close to scolding before he cleared his throat and continued, voice lower. “I mean, if you want. I won’t mind. Or, at least…” He paused, shifting uneasily on the log. “If I do, I might as well get used to it. You’re one of my best friends. I… I care about you.”

Their gazes slid away at the words, awkwardly landing on everything but each other until Prompto broke the silence with a squeaked, “You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“No, Gladio – you’re the kind of guy people _dream_ of.”

A thick hand waved away the words. “I highly doubt I’m in anyone’s dreams.”

Prompto shook his head, all too quick to correct him with a breathed, “Don’t sell yourself short.”

A chiseled chin drew level as the words hit the air, the paint still clinging to his beard. “You’re one to talk.”

“What?” It came out as a huff. Pale eyebrows arched skeptically.

“You’re _always_ selling yourself short,” was the dry reply. “You never talk yourself up. You’re always so quiet until things come to a head, but you don’t really make an attempt to prevent anything. You don’t stand up for yourself, and when you do I’m honestly shocked. You should have more confidence in yourself. Advocate for yourself. You know?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do I have to have more confidence? Why do I have to advocate at all? Why does that matter?” Prompto continued, arm motioning through the fog. “Can’t I just live life how I have?”

There was a sigh. A soft puff of clouds that slid from Gladiolus’ lips and down his chin. “Because moments like these are what shape your life, and a little confidence in yourself could be the difference between getting what you want and missing the only chance you get at true happiness.”

_You’ll need to take more risks if you want to be happy._

“You sound just like Luna.” The words were flat. Prompto’s expression went lax as he said them, fingers curling against the bulge of his inhaler in his pocket.

Gladiolus breathed a chuckle at that. “Then you know for sure that I’m right,” he drawled. “Now, come on. Is there anything you’ve been thinking of getting? Maybe doing? Remodeling the shop? Asking someone out?”

Thin hands reached suddenly for the hem of a heavy coat, gripping it tight.

Silence. The rustle of leaves in the distance, then closer.

A deer passed before them, sparing them a look before continuing on.

“That was…”

“Normal for out here,” Gladiolus finished for him warmly. “Ain’t it great?”

The response was a bare nod, at first. But as a silence passed between them once more, Prompto finally spoke. “There is… someone.”

“Oh?” Gladiolus eased forward on the log, inching closer to the nervous man.

“Yeah. I… Yeah.”

“Good for you. Do you know if they like guys?”

A pink tongue slid out to wet dry lips before he replied. “Yeah. Yeah, they do.”

“Are they single?”

“I haven’t seen them with anyone.”

“Then what’s stopping you?” Gladiolus asked. “Why don’t you just… go up and plant a big ol’ kiss on them?” He paused. “Ask permission first, though.”

Prompto was slow to shake his head; to respond with a soft, “I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I _can’t_.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

It was then that Prompto turned his attention from the foggy woods to the man before him, shifting nervously against the log. “You’re kind of freaking me out, you know.”

Gladiolus blinked. “What?” The smile that had worked its way onto thin lips dropped.

“You’re taking this really well, and it’s making me wonder if there’s something else that was bothering you. You know – why you left. You’ve come really far in the last few months, and even your phrasing has changed, and… I don’t know. I guess I’m a little suspicious.”

A moment passed. A long moment. Then, Gladiolus’ mouth twitched into something like a grimace. “And you’re growing a backbone, I see.”

“People keep telling me to advocate for myself more.”

There was a laugh. A snort.

Prompto’s eyes turned down; took in dark boots that dangled off the forest floor, hovering above a few tattered blades of grass.

Silence.

“So?” he prompted.

“I’m trying to figure out how to phrase it,” Gladiolus supplied softly. “I guess…” He paused again, lips pursing before a tongue slid out to wet an already moist mouth. “Remember when Noctis left? And he gave you the shop?”

“Uh… Yeah?”

“He and I had it worked out beforehand that if he had to leave, I would take over the shop. But when he was packing he came to tell me he was giving it to you instead.”

“I didn’t-”

“Of _course_ you didn’t know,” Gladiolus droned, motioning weakly with one hand. “He didn’t _want_ you to know. He didn’t want you to freak out over it. The shop is already a huge responsibility, let alone telling you that he was taking it away from me and giving it to you. What mattered most was that you would take better care of the shop than I ever would. He didn’t trust me to take it seriously. He didn’t trust me to take it seriously because I had already proven I wouldn’t.”

“That’s…” Prompto trailed off.

“My point is,” he continued quietly, “he didn’t trust me.”

Gloved hands gripped the hem of a thick jacket firmly. “Is that why you left?” he asked, eyes fixed on a patch of clover across the path. “The shop?”

“It’s not just that.”

“... Oh.”

Gladiolus breathed a sigh, slouching until he braced his elbows against his knees, arms crossed. His legs didn’t swing down, like Prompto’s, instead reaching the ground in a firm stance. “I know you’re having mental health issues, too. You keep it under wraps pretty well, but I’ve caught you talking to Ignis and Noctis about it. Not me, though… Never with me.”

Nausea rose with the anxiety in Prompto’s stomach at the words, and he squeaked out a low, “Sorry.”

“Don’t. Just… _don’t_ say sorry for that. You don’t owe me _jack_ . I’m just… _Shit_ .” Rising from the log, Gladiolus kicked ineffectively at a patch of grass before turning back to Prompto. “The point I’m getting at is whatever I’ve been doing, or however I’ve been doing it, you guys don’t trust me. There’s always this _distance_.”

“There’s no distance.”

“Don’t _lie_ to me,” Gladiolus spat.

Prompto wanted to throw up.

“Look, I…” He paused, large hand drawing up to slide through dark bangs. “I’m sorry. I’m just reacting poorly. _Again_.”

“You have a right to be angry,” Prompto told him firmly. “Just tell us next time instead of bottling it up. I don’t talk to you because you don’t talk to me. We… We never see each other. We’re practically strangers.”

A scoff met the words. “Strangers, huh?” Gladiolus quoted softly. The fight ebbed from the line of his shoulders,  and he collapsed back on the log with a sigh. “I guess you’ve got a point.”

“I-”

“It makes sense that you wouldn’t tell a stranger about your parents, but what about Ignis?”

Prompto stiffened. “What about him?”

“He…” Gladiolus trailed off, hands falling to the wood as he leaned back contemplatively, refusing to meet Prompto’s eyes as he instead peered deep into the heavy fog. “At first I left because he… _told me something_ about himself. Something he’d never told me before. He screamed it, really. I was afraid the whole neighborhood would hear.”

“No. Just me.”

Brown eyes turned on him at the words, blinking cautiously. “You… heard?”

“Yeah,” Prompto replied, tone light. “You guys were pretty loud.”

“So… you heard, then. That Ignis… likes…” He shifted. “He’s like you. He likes… men.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“It’s… I’m sorry you – we – had to find out like that,” Gladiolus groaned. “I wish he had trusted-”

“I already knew,” Prompto interrupted smoothly. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but he and I came out to each other a few years ago. He knew about my moms and figured I was a safe person to tell.”

There was a long silence before Gladiolus spoke. Before he murmured an anguished, “Did I do this? Did I set everything up so that none of you could talk to me?”

Slowly, pale hands inched toward the thick hem of a coat, only to pause. They clenched on narrow thighs, fingers curled in tight. “We all have our walls,” he answered after a long while, voice oddly steady as the other man’s attention turned to him. “You’re a straight, neurotypical man, and it’s kind of obvious. You’re not the kind of guy people like us can safely share this info with.”

“But I want to be.”

“It’s demographics, Gladiolus. But more than that, it’s about comfort zones. It’s up to us to trust you with this info. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“You can tell me anything.”

“... You say that, but how could I be sure?”

Gladiolus’ eyes were intense in that moment, settled firmly on Prompto as his arms uncrossed. They fell to his side, hanging almost limply over the log. “Because I’m telling you right now – anytime, anywhere. No judgment. You’re my friend.”

“You’re…” Prompto paused. “You’ve changed a lot.”

Slowly, Gladiolus shook his head, gaze turning back to the fog. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. And yeah, I’ve changed a bit, but it’s not enough. There are things I need to learn. Things about homosexuality. About Ignis. About this life he may or may not lead. I want to know what I can, and I want to help him.” He licked his lips, only for his eyes to turn back on Prompto. “And you, too,” he added. “I want to help you, too.”

“That’s nice, but I need to lead my own life, and you’re not part of that side of me.”

Thin lips quirked in a show of amusement, putting a dimple on display. “Fair,” he whispered. “Maybe what I want would be overstepping.”

Prompto hummed. “It’s hard to be sure. Our lives have always been so intertwined until now. Yours and Ignis’, especially.”

There was a laugh. It was a low, somber sound. “Ain’t that the truth?” Rising from his seat, Gladiolus bent at the waist to reach for his toes with a groan. Pajamas sticking out from under his coat, he rose back to his full height and turned to Prompto with a grin. “Welp, it’s about time to head back. It’s pretty cold out here.”

Tugging his gloves tighter onto his hands, the younger man moved to follow. He hopped down from the log, feet shuffling forward nervously. Then he froze. Hands clenched at his thighs, he stared up at Gladiolus with wide eyes. “Anything, right?” he asked.

Brown eyes turned on him, wide with surprise. “Yeah,” he replied quietly. “Anything.”

There was a breath.

A squeaked attempt at words.

A nervous shuffle.

Then, Prompto managed a whispered, almost desperate, “I’m in love with Ignis.”

…

They were in the cabin before anyone said much more on the matter. Collecting the last of his things, Prompto startled as a voice rose from across the room.

“You should tell him how you feel,” Gladiolus suggested warmly. “Ignis, that is. Tell him how you feel about him. You’ve got nothing to lose.”

“What?” It came out as a hiss. “I’ve… I’ve got _everything_ to lose.”

Dark eyebrows arched skeptically. “He’s not going to kick you out if you tell him how you feel.”

“But what about our friendship?” was the sharp rebuttal. “What if I destroy what camaraderie we have? What if I make things awkward?”

“Look at me.”

Blue eyes shifted, lighting slowly on the brown, determined pair across the room.

Gladiolus rose to his full height, then, fixing the younger man with a smile so sincere it was almost painful to look at. The jars in his hands and the loose pajamas finished the look. “Ignis cares about you,” he started slowly. “Even if he doesn’t care the way you want him to, a confession – telling him the _truth_ – isn’t going to destroy your relationship. Trust me.”

“He won’t retaliate, but what about me? What if I get petty and annoying?” Prompto whined.

A grin quirked Gladiolus’ lips at this, and he settled a hand on the kitchen counter, eyes fixed on the island. “You’re not like that,” he answered brightly. “And you can’t just live in what-ifs your entire life. You’re eighteen. You’re an _adult_. Take matters into your own hands.”

Head bobbing slowly, Prompto grabbed at his pack and slung it onto his broom, tying it expertly.

“Oh – and can you do me a favor?”

A blue gaze turned up, curious.

Gladiolus’ attention was fixed on him, firm and even, eyes crinkled in amusement. “Keep me updated. I don’t have to know everything, but I want to know what’s going on. Especially as far as the two of you are concerned.”

“O… Okay? Why?”

Eyes rolled at this, sliding from the ceiling to the art supplies in the corner before shifting back to Prompto. “I’ve been out of the loop for too long. If – _when_ – he finally tells me you’re dating, I want to look him dead in the eye and tell him I knew the whole time.”

Prompto couldn’t help the laugh that burst from him as he cinched the bag tight against the broom.

Making his way across the room, Gladiolus stepped up to the younger man’s side, settling a hand on a thin shoulder. “You should visit often,” he suggested softly.

Rising to his feet, Prompto threw his arms around the big man, shoulder to side, face buried in a thick neck.

For a long second they held each other.

They parted as the sun peeked through the fog to pool from the front curtains, crawling over the wall in vertical stripes.

“I’m going to miss you,” Gladiolus admitted softly.

Prompto’s mouth opened, but no words came out.

They headed out onto the porch, and a smile fell over pink lips as a familiar red bird fluttered down from the rooftop. “You didn’t kill anyone, did you?” he asked as his boots sunk into the snow.

Landing on the wooden end of the broom, Aranea scoffed. “Of course not. Biggs and Wedge were perfect gentlemen.”

Throwing his leg over the handle, Prompto’s expression twisted. “Biggs and Wedge?” he asked.

She nodded quickly, eyes shining in the morning light as she told him softly, “New friends.”

“Fly safe, now!” Gladiolus called from the porch. “Be brave, Prompto.”

“I’ll try!” Prompto called back, arm rising in a quick farewell before his hands drew back to the handle. “Ready Aranea?” he asked.

Hopping up the handle, she flew up into the air, then darted into the opening in his coat. There he shifted into place. “Ready,” she agreed softly.

The sky was clear when he rose into the air, snow and clouds long-gone. It was an easy trip home. One that let his thoughts wander as the compass strapped to the handle of his broom led the way.

…

Snow swept off to the side to pile on the grass, Prompto swung his leg over the broom handle and onto the cool concrete of the side steps. The street was quiet. The lights in the house were out. The cold Sunday morning drew clouds from his lips, even as the sun beat down overhead and there came the distant cry of children’s laughter. Glove settling on the half-frozen door handle, Prompto paused. It took him a while before his wrist twitched and the handle turned.

Locked.

Snatching up the gnome at his side, he fished the key from its hollow depths before unlocking the door and quickly stepping in.

The fire had dwindled to nothing more than embers, leaving the room cold and bitter. Dishes sat drying in the rack on the counter. The table was freshly wiped and cared for.

Ignis was nowhere to be seen.

With a quick glance to the grandfather clock – reading 10:15 – Prompto approached the hearth with a sigh. Throwing a new log on the fire, he prodded it with the poker until he was satisfied; until the coals burned red-hot next to the new log that slowly began to catch. He rubbed his gloved hands together before making his way to the hall toward the back door. Shedding his coat and unwinding Ignis’ broom from his bag, he slung it over his shoulder and made his way up the stairs as Aranea slipped out of his shirt.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. “You’re tense.”

Pausing at the top of the stairs, Prompto threw a glance through Ignis’ open bedroom door.

He wasn’t there.

“I just…” he began softly, hiking up the steps to the attic. “Can you… be scarce for a bit?”

The bird, perched upon his shoulder, quirked her head to the side. “Sure,” she said simply, flitting suddenly into the air and shooting up into his room.

When he arrived on the landing, she was snuggled happily in her cage, blanket strewn over the top. He smiled softly. It was a small thing. A nervous thing. And as he dropped his bag to the floor he steeled his shoulders and made his way back toward the main floor. He took the stairs one at a time, hand firm on the railing as his breath came shallow in his lungs. “Ignis?” he called. “Ignis, are you here?”

The second floor was empty, and the kitchen and shop were abandoned, leaving Prompto in front of the basement door as his heart thundered in his chest, hands giving a quick, solitary shake with each beat.

For a long while he stood there, listening to the silence ring around him before his fingers closed around the knob and turned it. The door opened silently, freshly oiled and cared for. Even the knob was shinier beneath his fingers.

Had Ignis been nervously cleaning in his absence?

Prompto pushed the thought away as he moved onto the first step, descending as quickly as he dared as his eyes fell on the man clutching a large ladle in the center of the room, surrounded by active cauldrons.

“You’re back,” Ignis whispered softly, red-rimmed gaze falling on the window. “Is it Sunday already?” he asked, fingers rising from the wooden handle to card through the bangs that stood vertical to his face, attempting to furiously comb them down.

Oh, but Prompto loved it.

“What time is it?” he continued softly, green eyes lighting on Prompto with a squint.

“It’s just after ten,” was the quiet reply. Feet carrying him down the last few steps, he froze at the base, fingers clutching the last of the handrail for dear life.

Dark lashes dipped once, then twice, before Ignis spoke. “You look tense. Did something happen with Gladiolus? Is he coming back?”

There was a slow, uneasy shake of a head to this, blond hair spilling over a pale forehead. “No. Gladio won’t be coming back.”

“... May I ask why?”

Thin shoulders shrugged. “It’s his life, and we should respect his decisions.”

“Does…” Ignis trailed off, biting his lip before his hand moved back to the ladle. He stirred the potion quickly, the color shifting from a deep green to a gentle lavender with each solitary pull. “What did you do? While you were there, that is.”

“We talked a lot.”

“About what?”

“Stuff.”

“About… me?”

Prompto couldn’t help the whole-body flinch that followed Ignis’ broken words. The wave of nausea that rose in his stomach. Nervousness. Anxiety. Anticipation.

_“You should tell him how you feel.”_

_“Don’t let the fear of making mistakes destroy you.”_

_“Be brave, Prompto.”_

“Do you still like him?” Prompto asked instead. “I want the truth.”

Ignis was quiet at first, not quite comprehending the words. He took a moment to poke at the fire beneath the cauldron, then returned to stirring. “As a friend,” he answered finally, eyes firm on the potion as it grew lighter and lighter with each pass of the ladle. “Things change, I suppose.”

“And when did this change?”

“The moment he called us ‘unnatural,’” was the sharp reply. “I don’t… I don’t think I could look at him right now. It’s been _months_ but I’m still not…” He paused, breathing a low sigh as he shook his head. “He’s not like us, in the end. I gave up.”

Prompto was quiet for a long time before stepping forward, sliding between the cauldrons as quickly as he could, feeling the heat radiate off of them. He paused before Ignis, head a mess of questions and the steady throb of his heart as blood thundered through him. “Does that mean…” His voice broke, sending his words into the ether.

“Does that mean… Pardon?” Ignis quoted softly, hands stiling.

Slowly, Prompto reached forward. His fingers pried at longer digits; at a tanned hand wound around the ladle handle.

There came a laugh. A soft, “This potion _does_ need to be stirred.”

Steeling himself, Prompto’s eyes drifted shut. His fingers twisted, bringing Ignis’ palm up to his face. The hand was warm and rough; calloused from his work for the shop. From a childhood spent slaving over a cauldron. From years of caring for others. Of caring for him.

As Prompto pressed his lips to the center of the tanned palm, he found his eyes sliding open, taking in Ignis’ slack jaw and eyes pinched in confusion.

Silence.

Then the hand drew back, bringing his with it. Thin lips pursed, then puckered…

… and pressed so sweetly to the back of a pale hand.

Prompto couldn’t breathe.

The last of tanned fingers fingers fell away from the ladle, allowing it to clatter to the edge of the cauldron. Slowly, they eased toward a thin face. Brushed back a lock of hair. “Prompto,” Ignis whispered as he drew forward, his single step sounding through the room like a drum. “Prompto,” he repeated just under his breath.

Their fingers slipped together, tangling by a tanned cheek before they fell to their sides.

As Ignis bent forward, a flush worked its way into Prompto’s cheeks. It flooded his face, spilling into his throat and pouring heat down into his collar.

A large nose – one growing broad and thin as age took hold of an angular face – brushed against the quickly reddening skin, cool and rough with acne scars.

Prompto’s breath stuttered between his teeth at the contact, freezing in his chest as the nose dragged along his cheek. It shifted up, then down, and finally to the left. Their noses brushed.

“I need to know if you’re alright with this,” Ignis whispered, breath fanning over Prompto’s cheeks as his words nearly caressed pink, waiting lips. “If you’re alright with me kissing you.”

Pale bangs flopped as a head nodded firm consent, voice stuck somewhere between his stomach and his lungs.

From outside the window there came a scream. The cry of children playing in the street. A shouted scold. The crunch of snow beneath feet as children frolicked somewhere beyond the walls. Chickens clucking, urged into movement by an overexcited Aranea. And yet it all fell conveniently silent, leaving naught but the distant crash of waves as Ignis bent forward, crossing the metaphorical ocean between them in one slow, even movement as he eased forward that final inch.

In a narrow chest, a heart beat so quick Prompto was sure it would stop. Electricity sang from every point of contact. From lips, firm and thin. Hands, light and trailing through his hair. Knees, bumping his as they huddled together for contact.

And then it was over, and Prompto shook.

And then it wasn’t, and Prompto began to vibrate.

Ignis drew back, only to press his lips to Prompto’s once more. Quick, happy little pecks as his arms wound about Prompto’s shoulders and pulled him close until their chests were flush.

By the time Prompto thought to kiss back – to move his lips against Ignis’ and slide his hands between them to rest on a firm chest – the lips had drawn away, shiny and beautiful and red with use. Fingers draw patterns into his neck as they part: circles and squares and loop-de-loops that stole his thoughts.

“Breathe,” Ignis told him.

Mouth falling open, Prompto sucked in a desperate, much needed breath.

Ignis’ expression was complicated as his fingers stilled against pale skin. His eyes were half shuttered, mouth almost slack as he asked, “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

“No,” was the immediate reply. “You?”

“A few times.” It was a quiet confession, barely above a whisper. “Some girls in town. Never… Never a man.”

The potion gave an ominous _pop_.

Drawing out of the embrace, Ignis took hold of the ladle and began stirring once more. “I really do have to finish this,” he insisted, voice hoarse.

Prompto nodded quickly, backing away towards the door, weaving carefully between the other cauldrons. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Sorry to bother you.” He was quick to scale the stairs. Quick to half-slam the door behind him and collapse against the door, fingers flying to his lips as his chest threatened to burst. “Breathe, Prompto,” he reminded himself softly. “Breathe.”


	13. Labels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Prompto and Ignis move forward with their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lovely editor [Coffee](https://saturnvalleycoffee.tumblr.com) convinced me to write more Libertus, so here we are, nearly 14k later. And sorry for the hiatus, guys. I needed it. This chapter is dedicated to Dressy and Kiwi for listening to me vent about this story.
> 
> Also, y’all are in for a surprise, hopefully soon. Some of you already know, seeing as I can't keep my mouth shut for thirty seconds.
> 
> 100k, though. Wow. I'm honestly shocked we finally made it.

Prompto was in the midst of putting away the contents of his bag when the knock came. His eyes shot from the door to Aranea’s empty cage, then the window set ajar, before he made to move. He shuffled quickly toward the stairs, pausing at the top with his hand on the railing.

Then there came another series of knocks, faster and more insistent.

He climbed down the stairs quickly, fingers in his free hand curled tight in a nervous fist before he forced them to unclench. The knob was cold as he took it, turning it cautiously before opening the door. His expression was tight. His shoulders, pinched. But as the man on the other side of the door came into view he visibly relaxed. “Hey,” he breathed in greeting.

“Hello,” Ignis whispered back. His lips pursed, then.

His  _ lips _ .

Red, _ kissable _ lips.

Recently  _ kissed _ lips.

“I… I wished to bid you goodnight,” the older man insisted quietly, “though I am well aware of the hour. I’m… I’m sorry to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me,” Prompto denied, voice high.

“You’re in the midst of unpacking, are you not?”

“It’s not like I’m working on six potions at once. My pants can wait.”

“Yes. Of course. I…” Ignis cleared his throat, socked feet moving nervously against the hardwood. His eyes shifted askance before they turned back to meet blue. “I wanted to clear the air. To be sure of your- my-  _ our _ intentions before moving any further than we have.”

“I’m up for that,” Prompto replied all-too-casually, even as his heart thudded away painfully in his chest.

“Then…” Pale lips drew to a pause. “We-” he attempted again, only for his voice to squeal up and out of reach in the high, embarrassing registers Prompto hadn’t heard from him in years. “How long have you… felt this way? Or- No. How… How do you  _ feel _ ?”

Pale fingers steepled nervously. “I…”  _ love you _ . The words refused to come out. Refused to rise from his throat like they had so easily for Gladiolus. But before he could let it steal what bravery he had, he reached forward to grab a large, tanned hand. He brought it to his chest, pressing it over where his heart threatened to leap into the open air.

Ignis’ shoulders tensed, then grew lax as Prompto’s chest beat madly beneath his fingers. A soft smile spilled into his cheeks. “How long have you felt this way?” he asked, gaze sliding from blue eyes to the hand that clutched his to a frantic pulse.

A bottle shone suddenly in Prompto’s mind’s eyes. A prayer. A whisper in his ear. Words of thanks. Instructions. A potioned labeled “First Love.”

“I think you know how long,” was his earnest reply.

A laugh burst from Ignis; a light, befuddled sound that seemed to shake the very air. “Unfortunately I haven’t the faintest,” he admitted softly. “However, I…” He paused, gaze flicking back to the hand holding his before his fingers gave a gentle tug. He drew them up, then back toward his own chest, pressing Prompto’s palm flush just below his front pocket.

Blue eyes widened as he felt the race taking place. The heart beating double time against his fingers.

“I feel the same.” The confession was paired with a sheepish grin and a flush working onto high cheekbones.

A bubble of  _ something _ – shock; love;  _ fear  _ – rose in Prompto’s chest at the words. Ignis had moved close again. Had shifted into his space oh-so-slowly, giving Prompto all the time in the world to react. But as their noses brushed, he found himself whispering, “What are we to each other, now?”

The face that had grown so close pulled away, expression drifting into confusion. “Pardon?” he asked, blinking owlishly.

“What are we to each other?” he parroted softly, voice growing firm. “We’re… We’re housemates; friends; business partners. The list could go on. But now we’re…  _ kissing  _ and talking about  _ feelings _ for each other and-”

A pair of lips cut him off, hot and insistent. Fingers carded through pale hair, holding Prompto’s head still as Ignis pulled quickly away. “You’re panicking,” he pointed out breathlessly.

“Of course I’m panicking,” Prompto squealed back. His hands fell to the hem of his shirt, gripping it for dear life as they began to vibrate. “What if we screw this up? What if-”

Lips. Hands slipping to pale cheeks. A chest, firm and insistent, pressed against a loose shirt.

It was all Prompto could do to push him away, hissing out a sharp, “Would you  _ stop _ ?”

The look on Ignis’ face was a dazed one. His jaw was slack; his eyes wide as a flush worked over his cheeks, high and bright. “My apologies. I simply wished… You’re panicking.”

“Interrupting me with kisses isn’t going to help that!” Prompto half squealed. His throat had begun to close, tears beading in his eyes as a headache took up residence in the base of his forehead. “Look, I know labels are scary – I’m  _ freaking out  _ right now. But that doesn’t mean you get to derail the conversation with advice I’m pretty sure you got from a romance novel!” His words rose to a crescendo, crashing between them like waves upon the beach, only to draw back like the low tide, growing quiet and taciturn with a soft, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

“You’re right.”

Blue eyes turned up, meeting green boldly. “What?”

“You’re absolutely correct,” Ignis rephrased quickly. “I shouldn’t take my cues from dime-store novels and I should listen to your concerns without silencing you.”

For a long moment Prompto could only blink. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“As for labels,” he continued sweetly, “perhaps ‘boyfriends’ is a good place to start. For now, that is. If you’re amenable.”

“I’m amenable,” Prompto replied all-too-quickly.

There was a moment that passed, then. A moment filled with a soft, uneasy laugh. An apologetic whisper. A soft smile.

“Good,” Ignis whispered, easing forward as his lips turned sweetly up at the corners. “Now, if you don’t mind, as that is settled I would very much like to kiss you.”

“Um…” All gumption fled Prompto at the words, and it was all he could do to squeak out a dry, “Sure.”

“Thank you,” Ignis whispered, mouth hardly moving.

Prompto nearly jumped out of his skin when fingers drew over his wrist, callouses rough against soft, pale skin. As the digits drew up the length of his arm, lingering on his elbow and the curve of his bicep, the tanned hand drew to a stop atop a thin shoulder. A shiver raced up his spine. Heat hummed in his stomach, churning nervously at the contact. Every slight touch was no lighter than that of a breeze. Simply the drag of skin on skin left Prompto feeling as if his lungs had been lined with bricks.

Once more, Ignis took a small step forward, closing the space between them in one fell swoop. “Thank you,” he whispered again.

“For what?” Prompto asked.

“Not…” Ignis paused, throat working as he swallowed heavily. “I’m… thanking Zodiark for bringing you to me. Thanking Siren for keeping you here. Thanking Shiva for how close we’ve become. I have much thanks to give.”

“That’s… actually kind of romantic,” Prompto admitted under his breath.

Ignis cleared his throat. “Yes, well… you might want to get used to it. You are aware of how often I pray, are you not?”

“I… I am.”

“Then you should be aware that I will be praying a great deal more after this,” came the slow admission as the older man leaned further in. His lips brushed the line of a narrow jaw, cheek dragging against the side of a pale face. “Zodiark, decider of fates, I give thanks for bringing this beautiful man into my life. For allowing our paths to cross as they did. For helping Prompto choose this town as his home. That we could meet brings me more joy than I could possibly fathom.”

Prompto flushed at the words, mouth opening and closing in his shock as his breath froze in his chest.

“Siren, Goddess of gardens and carnal desires, I give thanks,” Ignis continued, throat rumbling gently. “Thank you for keeping him in my life; for giving him his garden to tend, keeping him tethered to me each and every day. Goddess, I owe you a debt.”

“You…” he managed to squeak, only to fall silent.

A moment passed before the words continued, low and sultry as fingers drifted from thin shoulders to cup narrow elbows. “Thanks be to Shiva, Goddess of family. To you I give thanks,” he murmured, lips brushing the warm shell of an ear. “Thank you for keeping this man in my life long enough that we could see reason. Thank you for allowing me to get to know him well enough without the cloud of attraction over my eyes; to see him as he is – a man. I pray that I might keep my good fortune – keep  _ you _ – in my life as long as you will let me.”

Drawing back, Prompto turned his face up to the left to push his lips to the pair that had been waiting by his ear. He didn’t quite know what to do at first. His mouth remained still against Ignis’ as the older man pushed forward, bending him back even as large hands held him in place.

Then Ignis’ bottom lip eased forward, nudging his.

Oh, did Prompto’s stomach jump.

Heat pooled in the base of his chest once more as large hands gripped his elbows tight, tugging him in until their chests were flush. Until Prompto had to crane his neck back for their mouths to catch. With a needy breath through his nose, he felt more than moved his hands up. They slipped up wiry arms all on their own, caressing muscle through the sleeves of a silk shirt. Then, slowly, they shifted in. They fell against a broad chest. Against modest pecs and a pronounced collarbone.

The noise that fell from Ignis’ lips, then, was not one of surprise. It was a high sound; a happy sound. One of pleasure. Appreciation.

Prompto groaned as the sound was immediately followed by firm, thin lips pulling quickly from his. The butterflies in his stomach swirled.

“We can’t tell anyone,” Ignis insisted suddenly.

The anxious tears that had budded at Prompto’s eyes earlier spilled with no other warning. The butterflies turned to lead.

“We  _ can’t _ ,” Ignis repeated.

“I know,” Prompto replied calmly. “Just another thing to hide. No big deal.”

Pale lips pursed before the older man pointed out, “Your tears tell a different story.”

Boney fingers slid up a broad chest, taking hold of the collar half open to display the long line of his boyfriend’s throat. “Then kiss me again,” he suggested weakly. “Maybe I’ll stop.”

Green eyes screwed up. “But we just-”

“I’m asking you, now,” Prompto interrupted, voice barely more than a whisper. “Consent changes everything.”

Lips pursed at the words, only to break into a minute smile. “I’d love to spend all day kissing you, but you need to feed the chickens and I need to catch a nap before returning to my potions. You understand.”

Pale hair wagged as Prompto slowly made to agree, fingers growing tight in the silk sollar. “Life doesn’t ever stop,” he noted quietly.

“No, it doesn’t,” Ignis said sweetly. “But it feels like it does when I’m with you.” As the words faded between them he bent forward to press the smallest of kisses to Prompto’s cheek before drawing away, fingers wagging through the air in a polite farewell. “Have a good morning, darling.”

Blue eyes followed the older man’s retreat, all too expected and all too soon. He watched as black socked feet made their way to the far room, leaving him alone as the door slid swiftly shut. Closing his own, Prompto collapsed back against the stairs, heart working frantically as his fingers drew up to caress lips that tingled pleasantly with use.

At the top of the stairs Aranea was silent, gaze sliding from the window to the man at the base of the stairs. But as the moment wore on she fluttered to her witch, settling on his shoulder and burying her beak in his hair. “Congratulations, chick,” she told him affectionately. “I wish you the best.”

A smile split red lips. “Thanks, Aranea.”

…

The chickens were happy to see him when Prompto went outside. They clustered around his legs, feet stomping through the grass as they clucked happily.

“Miss me?” he cooed, reaching into the mass of feathers to caress the birds.

“They missed you a lot,” Aranea announced from the gutter, preening her wing. “You might want to sit with them a bit.”

Taking a seat in the grass, Prompto laughed as the birds swarmed him, burying their beaks in his clothes and hair until he couldn’t tell where he ended and the chickens began.

…

By the time Prompto wandered back into the house – shoes damp and sleeves covered in plant matter – Ignis was already up, bustling about the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hands.

“Lunch won’t be ready for a good fifteen minutes,” he said, settling his mug on the counter. Turning to the eggs on the stove, he prodded at them with a spatula. “How are your plants doing?”

Fingers settling on the back of his chair, Prompto pulled it out from the table as quietly as he could. “Everything’s fine. It looks like one day of neglect isn’t going to kill  _ this _ garden.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Prompto paused for a moment, eyes following the graceful movements of the spatula before he settled quickly into his chair. “What did you do while I was gone?” he asked, fingers drawing nervously together. “Work on potions?”

“Yes. Didn’t so much as get a wink of sleep, it turns out. I’m relieved I’m not usually left to my devices. I would be a disaster.”

Blue eyes widened at the words, sliding from the stove to his boyfriend. “You’re kidding,” he whispered. “You didn’t sleep?”

“You always come down to remind me of the time,” Ignis pointed out, sliding the pan off the active coil. Switching off the stove, he settled the spatula on a plate on the counter before turning to face his boyfriend.

“I didn’t think it was that important,” Prompto admitted slowly.

Green eyes crinkled in amusement before Ignis turned back around, reaching into the cupboard for some plates. They clattered as he set them on the counter. “For all that I’m known for taking care of you lot, when left to my own devices I can be quite self destructive simply on the basis that I have a poor concept of time. I get absorbed quite easily in my projects, as you know.”

“I do,” Prompto agreed.

Scooping eggs onto the plates, Ignis turned around and settled them on the table. The chair squealed as he took his place, pulling it out and collapsing into the seat with a sigh.

Breakfast was quiet. The exception was a few rare words exchanged over the quality of the food. And as the silence stretched, so did Prompto’s arm. It inched across the table. Shifted. Paused. Eased over the wood. Finally, his fingers slowly took hold of a broad wrist.

Ignis had paused, eyes finding the digits that searched out his own. Then, with his eyes on his boyfriend, he shifted his fork to his left hand. Each bite after this was a chore. His fingers shook with every trip from the plate to his mouth, struggling to hold the fork. Yet his lips were split in a giddy grin, lighting the room.

It took them awhile to finish. The clock chimed the hour across from them and they both jumped.

“We don’t have much time,” Prompto noted, tone bitter.

“No, we don’t,” Ignis agreed softly, sliding his hands from his boyfriend’s warm grip before rising from his chair. “Help me with the dishes, would you?”

A quick nod was the reply as chairs were pushed back. They clustered around the sink. Dishes in hand, their shoulders brushed as they took their positions: Ignis washing, Prompto drying. They were done before long, sink empty and hands bare.

Then, Ignis turned. Fingers still damp from the sink dragged against a pale cheek as the silence rose once more between them in the absence of the clatter of dishes.

Prompto’s hand slid up, drawing their palms together as a distant crack of thunder broke through the room. “Sounds like rain,” he noted under his breath.

A flash of light spilled from the edges of the curtains as Ignis eased forward. His hands drew tight around pale fingers. His eyes glimmered in the low light. And as thunder rocked the room he pressed his lips gently to Prompto’s.

A sigh eased out of a freckled nose at the contact; at the electrical charge to pale skin as he eagerly stepped into the kiss. His hands shook. His legs knocked nervously together as he attempted to remain upright, clinging to the man before him with the length of his body. Chest to chest, hip to hip, they had grown flush.

As Ignis drew back, it was all Prompto could do to slide their hands apart, taking hold of broad shoulders as his lips split in a needy gasp for air.

“Are you alright?”

Prompto reeled at the words. Alright? Was he? He didn’t know. “I’m great,” he replied quickly, rising up on his tip-toes to close the distance between them. “Never better.”

Their lips met in a chaste embrace.

…

_ Dear Gladiolus Amicitia, _

_ I think you’ll be happy to know that I took your advice with Ignis and we talked things over. We’re very happy with our new arrangement and – at your request – he is none-the-wiser that you are now aware of this situation. _

_ It’s been raining a lot, lately. There’s talk of flooding in the cities. How are you faring out there? I imagine it’s difficult for a forest to flood, but you can’t be too sure. _

_ I’m afraid I don’t have much else to put in this letter, aside from general good wishes. How are you doing? How is Crowe doing? Have you talked to Kimya lately? _

_ No one’s visited since Iris. I passed on your address, by the way. I hope you’ve received something from her by now. Or maybe she’s super busy with her apprenticeship. I hear she likes Altissia, either way, so at least there’s that. _

_ Ignis was starting to catch a cold the other day. He was sneezing all over the place. Then he started downing potion after potion and he’s better again. I’m starting to wonder if he found a cure to the common cold. If so, we could be looking at something big. _

_ Sincerely. _

_ Prompto Aurum _

Giving the letter one last lookover, Prompto carefully folded it and placed it inside the small envelope, along with a few needles of rosemary. Sealing the mouth, he drew back to clasp his hands over his desk. “May your sleep be undisturbed,” he prayed softly before reaching once more for the envelope.

Rising to his feet, he brought the letter down the stairs, out of the attic, down from the second story, and onto the main floor. With a hop to his step, he skipped through the door and out onto the sidewalk. The mailbox squealed as he pulled it open, hinges rusty from the rain. Settling the letter on its side inside the box, Prompto closed it slowly before making his way into the house. “Ignis?” he called, glancing at the grandfather clock before heading into the shop. “Ignis?”

The door to the basement was closed, but as Prompto approached he could feel the humidity leaking out of the room. Reaching for the knob, the brass warm against his fingers, he swung open the door. He felt it wash over him; the heat. The moisture. It flooded over his skin as he made to move into the room, feeling it sink into his clothes with each solitary step. “Ignis?” he called once more.

A book came sailing onto the stairs, arcing over the handrails to clatter quickly to the floor, leather cover worn and well loved.

Or perhaps well hated.

“Ignis?” he called again, taking a cautious step down into the basement. Bending at the knee, he carefully picked up the notebook. It was deceptively heavy, the pages crinkled at the top with moisture. “Is everything alright?”

Green eyes turned to the stairs, bangs wild around an angular face. “No,” came the quick answer, only to bleed into a sharp, “Yes,” as tanned fingers clenched against neat slacks. “I’m just… frustrated.”

Rising from his crouch, Prompto flipped the notebook open with a cough. “Frustrated enough to throw your parents’ lifework cross the room,” he noted wetly. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Well, not  _ nothing _ . I simply...” Ignis breathed a sigh, eyes drooping closed as his hands began to unclench. He shook them absentmindedly, fingers flaring out as crescent indentations in his palms shifted to an angry red. “I am not quite at the level I need to be in order to understand what they’ve written,” he admitted, voice low. “I want to be able to understand – to  _ build on _ what they’ve already done. Yet the longer I work at it, the more I get the impression that I’m never going to reach their level.”

Blonde eyebrows arched. “You’re twenty-three.”

“What has that to do with anything?”

Prompto snorted. “You’re  _ twenty-three _ ,” he repeated. “Your parents were how old? You’ve got loads of time to catch up,” he argued, air heavy in his chest. “You’re being silly.”

Gaze turning to his boots, Ignis’ head shook firmly. “My parents left their lives’ work to  _ me _ ,” he insisted once more. “Is it really that silly to want to finish it?”

“What? No. That’s not-” Prompto cut out, voice squealing into high registers as he stepped up to the handrail. “I’m just saying… You’ve got time to understand. It’s not some race. Take a moment to calm down before you chuck these kind of things? I don’t know.

“I know you don’t get angry often. And… you’re not… You’re not being  _ silly _ , I just…” He paused, the fingers on his left hand winding into the fabric of his shirt. “I… don’t know where I’m going with this,” he admitted quietly.

It was a short moment before Ignis replied with a low, “I don’t think I understand quite yet, but I’ll think on what you’ve said, regardless.”

“Good luck. That was a mess.”

“Then why don’t you give it another go?”

At the words, Prompto’s hand unwound from his shirt, and he made his way down the stairs at last. “I want to say…” He trailed off. Setting the notebook on the preparation table, he smoothed his hand over the cover, feeling the dips and swirls of the embossed cover.

_ F. and J. Scientia _

“The three fold law,” he eventually managed. “You receive what you put out into the world.”

Silence settled between them before Ignis opted to speak, lips moving slowly with the words. “Are you implying I’m being too negative?”

“Yes. No?” Prompto's jaw fell slack for a moment before he clarified with a high, “Maybe you’re trying too hard – working too much – and the universe is trying to tell you to relax,” he suggested. He turned, blue eyes landing on the man before him with a hum of determination. “Maybe go on a…” Again, he paused, taking a deep, heavy breath before managing a weak, “Maybe air out the room a bit?”

Stepping away from the cauldron, Ignis threw the window open without a word.

Leaning against the table, Prompto’s eyes wandered to the tight glutes beneath a silk vest, only to skitter away shyly. “Maybe spend some more time with me. You know, doing… boyfriend stuff.”

With the window wide beneath his hands, Ignis froze. “Are…” His voice squealed. He cleared his throat quickly, fingers falling away from the thick frame. “Are you asking for sex?”

“What?  _ No _ !” Prompto shrieked. “It’s… It’s only been a few weeks! I’m not… I’m not emotionally prepared yet!”

“Good.”

“I- What?”

“I said, ‘Good,’” Ignis repeated softly. Turning away from the window, his eyes flicked from the cauldrons to the cabinets, and finally to Prompto. “I’m honestly in the dark as to how we would even attempt such an endeavor.”

“We could… ask my moms,” Prompto suggested slowly. “They might know something.”

“Then I suppose you don’t know, either.”

“No, I don’t,” he confirmed.

“Then we should probably let them know we’re dating,” Ignis proposed, shifting from foot to foot. “Long before they know we intend to…  _ fornicate _ , they should be aware of our union. Provided you haven’t yet told them.”

Prompto, with a heavy swallow, admitted, “I was waiting to tell them in person. I… I  _ want _ to tell them in person.”

Ignis met the words with a nod, slow and sure. “Of course. It’s only natural. Not to mention safer. There’s…” He paused once more, giving a nervous cough into his sleeve before squeezing out a high pitched, “There’s no rush to have sex.”

“R- Right.”

As the room aired and the potions simmered, Ignis slowly made his way between the cauldrons. His movements were graceful; each step sure and evenly measured. As he drew up to his boyfriend, his feet came to a pause even as his hands rose in the air between them, settling on narrow shoulders clad in black.

The embrace was a sharp one. Desperate. Nervous. Sweaty. Arms had wound too tight around Prompto’s shoulders.

A moment passed before he responded; before pale arms rose to hold a broad back and broader shoulders, gripping the plain silk shirt for dear life.

…

The rain had calmed to a gentle drizzle when Prompto pulled up to the bakery, humming a tune under his breath. Ignis’ broom gave a small kick before falling limp in his hands, and blue eyes turned on it, narrowing suspiciously. “Don’t be stubborn,” he scolded it softly. Wiping his shoes on the mat, he stepped through the bakery door with a wide grin. “Evening.”

The girl behind the counter dropped her smile as their eyes met, lips twisting into a bitter line. “You’re in a good mood,” she noted dryly.

Grin faltering, Prompto stepped up to the counter, shoulders drooping. “I, uh… Can I get a loaf of bread and a sweet bun please?

“Sure.” She moved behind the case quickly, taking hold of the tongs and reaching beneath the glass. Placing a sweet bun into a bag, she quickly packaged a loaf of bread, waxed paper crinkling as she pushed them across the counter, listing off the price.

He handed the coins over with a soft, nervous, “You’ve, uh… been kind of cold to me lately. Can I ask why?”

Brown eyes met blue as the girl looked him dead on, mouth a thin line. “You’re just as clueless as you look,” she murmured. There was no bite to her voice; just a calm indifference that reached into her gaze. Turning away, she motioned to the side with a lazy wave of her hand. “You might want to shave, soon. You’re getting a caterpillar.”

Snatching up the bread, Prompto felt at his lip with his free hand as he stepped out of the store, shouldering open the door with a sigh. Once outside he eyed the clouds skeptically before making his way to Ulric’s General Store down the street.

“You’re a little early for your chicken feed.”

As Prompto approached, his eyes fell on Libertus, standing with a cigarette hanging from his lips. “I was wondering if you have any shaving supplies.”

The older man laughed, motioning for Prompto to follow him in. “Finally going to take care of that growth on your face?” he teased. Stubbing his cigarette out in a coffee tin by the door, he pushed it open after one final exhalation of smoke.

They moved through the aisles quickly before Libertus paused, waving a hand at a bag hanging from the shelf. “We’re all out of cream, it looks like, but there should be some in that travel set. It’s been here a while so I’ll give you a discount. It’ll have everything you need, including aftershave.”

“Cool,” Prompto murmured, moving forward to snatch up the bag. “What’s aftershave? Is it important?”

A loud, bawdy laugh followed. “Do you see this Five-O'Clock shadow?” he teased, finger jabbing toward his cheek. “I’m not exactly the best person to ask. You’re better off asking your buddy Ignis. He’ll probably know everything that’s in it, and then some. He might even teach you how to shave if you ask him.”

Prompto swallowed heavily at the words, fingers nervously fiddling with the bag in his hands as a flush rose hot in his cheeks. “I could,” he agreed, voice low. “I- I definitely could.”

Pale blue eyes drew over pale fingers and quickly reddening cheeks as the younger man fiddled. Then, with a slight tilt of the head and an affectionate squint of his eyes, Libertus began, “This may be a long shot, but are you a friend of Do-”

From the front of the store came the clutter of a bell ringing all too quickly as Nyx half barreled into the room, sparing Libertus a glance before turning to the large crate in his arms. “Delivery,” he groaned.

Prompto looked up in shock as the older man raced around the aisles. “What were you asking?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Libertus called over his shoulder, braids flying as his head flung around. “I’ll be with you in just a second, okay? I’ve got to take care of this.”

Lips pursing, Prompto made his way to the counter with the bag, jostling the bread in his arms to rest in the crook of his elbow.

Before long Libertus arrived, a bead of sweat sliding down his forehead. Punching the total into a calculator, he listed off the extra tax.

As Nyx ducked into the back room, Prompto asked, “Am I a friend of what?”

“We’ll worry about that later,” the shopkeep insisted, eyes darting over to the stockroom door before falling back on his customer. Once more, he rattled off the total.

Pale hands slapped the coins down before he turned about, purchases precariously balanced and broom in hand.

The flight back was quick, if awkward. But what began as a light drizzle soon became a torrent of rain cascading from the sky.

Arriving on the porch at last, Prompto pushed open the back door and stood awkwardly before the selection of coats before him. “Ignis?” he called. “You here?”

“Yes, I’m here. Do you need something?” Ignis asked, head popping into the room. “A towel, perhaps?”

“Uh… yeah. Wanna take this really quick, though?” Angling the bag towards his boyfriend, Prompto wobbled as he attempted to step out of his boots.

Paper rustled as Ignis took the bread, retreating into the kitchen only to return with a large fluffy towel.

Pale hands took it with a grateful smile. He stored the broom and his dripping jacket away with moderate difficulty as he attempted to towel down. “Could I ask you a favor?” he called.

“Depends on the favor,” Ignis replied from the other room, voice hollow as it echoed through the small space. “What do you have in mind?”

Throwing the towel around his neck, Prompto padded into the kitchen. His socks were dry on his feet, but his pants dripped onto the linoleum. “I was wondering if you would show me how to shave,” he requested, hoisting the bag of supplies high for Ignis to see. “Everyone keeps telling me I have a caterpillar on my face.”

The smile to follow was small, a bare twitch of the lips that spoke of private amusement. “Yes, I suppose you’re getting to that age.”

“...Ignis?”

“Yes?”

“You’re twenty-three, not forty-five with two kids and a condo at the beach.”

Hand drawing gracefully up to cup his chin, Ignis gave a contemplative hum. “I am an old soul,” he argued drily.

Blue eyes rolled at this. “I’m gonna put on some dry clothes. Show me after?

“But of course, my young master,” Ignis teased, sweeping into a low, practiced bow.

…

The air was still in the bathroom as Prompto waited for Ignis to arrive. He could hear the wind whistling by the window; a high pitched moan that filled the room. And yet everything felt still. Each puff of air against his skin was chased by goosebumps that raced into place. As the door swung open he felt it in his very chest.

“Apologies for the wait,” Ignis said quickly, fingers finding the bare expanse of a pale wrist.

Gooseflesh rose quickly to meet them.

Lips, thin and affectionate, found the curve of a narrow neck. They popped along the bare flesh, never quite landing for more than a fraction of a second.

Head lolling to the side, a breath eased between perky lips.

Then a large hand found the curve of his waist.

The curve of a bony hip.

A gentle caress was placed along the length of a strong thigh.

Prompto reeled, mouth falling open to admit the smallest of gasps. “You…” he breathed, voice catching. Swallowing, he attempted a high, “You don’t think we’re moving too fast, do you?”

The hands paused. Then, without a hint of hesitation they flew upward, taking hold of narrow shoulders and turning the younger man about. Green eyes pierced into blue as he stared his boyfriend down. “If I’m moving too fast,” he began, voice low and firm, “ _ please _ tell me.”

Prompto fought back the trembles that worked their way down his arms and up his spine at the words. Hands clenched against the counter, lips thinning to a tight line.

“I need you to be honest with me.”

“I love you.”

Dark eyebrows arched suddenly.

Chin high, pale lashes fluttering upon his cheeks, Prompto took a long, shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” he squeaked. Tucking his chin into his chest, he shook his head firmly. “I’m sorry, I just – I even asked if we were going too fast and now I’m here spilling  _ everything _ .”

Pale lips parted, pursed, then fell open in an incredulous, “But it’s only been a week.” It came out somewhere between breathless and shocked, words falling from him in a quick, nervous tumble. “I don’t mean to sound like a cad, but we’ve only been together for a week. I find that…  _ difficult _ to comprehend.”

Prompto shook his head, voice dull as he announced, “It’s been five years.”

Realization. It dawned on Ignis like a brick launched through a window, shattering his expression in an instant. His hands drew tight against shoulders clad in black, fingers curling into the fabric as his eyes slid closed. “You’re fine,” he whispered. “No need to apologize. Simply… I must inform you that I’m not quite ready to say it, myself.”

“No, it’s  _ not _ fine,” Prompto argued. “I  _ literally _ just asked if we were going too fast! I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“Neither do I.”

Blue eyes turned up at the words, beaded with tears.

Ignis’ expression, then, was firm. “I haven’t the faintest idea what I’m doing, to be completely honest. I’m simply playing this all by ear. But…” Hands drew away from his shoulders, slowly drifting toward pale cheeks, cupping them in his palms. Their gazes locked as he leaned forward, eyes fixed firmly on Prompto’s as he quietly confessed. “You should know that I want to give you  _ everything _ .”

Pushing out of the grip, the younger man lunged forward to press their lips together. It was a chaste kiss, short and sweet, landing on the corner of his boyfriend’s mouth. Then they pulled away, wearing matching grins.

“Well then,” Ignis cooed. “Now that that’s settled, what do you say we teach you how to shave?”

A laugh followed, warm and amused. “Yeah,” Prompto agreed. “I’d like that.”

Hands dropped from pale cheeks, falling instead to the kit on his counter. “The first thing you need to be aware of is the state of the razor,” he narrated, tugging said article out of the bag and holding it before curious blue eyes. “Make sure it is sharp, and there is no rust on the blade. It should be cleaned and set to dry after every use before being placed in a special location or back in its case.”

Reaching back into the bag, he retrieved a small bottle of shaving cream and a modest vial of after-shave. “Now, let’s get started, shall we?”

Prompto nodded quickly.

“Shaving cream first, then,” he narrated, a soft smile on his lips and he handed over the bottle. “It foams quite a bit, so be careful. You only need so much.”

Pale hands turned the bottle, observing it quietly before popping off its cap. Setting it on the counter, he carefully squirted some into his palm. It expanded quickly, filling the round of his hand.

“That should be enough. Now, using the mirror, spread it on your face around wherever there’s hair.”

“Guess the downside to not having a father is he can’t teach me how to do this,” Prompto realized aloud. The bottle clinked as he placed it on the counter, and his eyes strayed to the reflection of the man at his side, taking in the complicated clench of a wide jaw. “What?”

“I suppose…” His lips pursed, then drew thin. “I suppose I’m quite lucky in that respect. I used to watch my father shave as a child. That’s how I learned.”

Prompto paused, foamy left hand at the ready. “Oh?” he murmured, voice low and surprised. Then, scooping some of the foam out with his right hand, he smoothed it over his face. It settled in uneven rows carved from the tips of his fingers; something he ignored, instead moving on and carefully coating the line of his meager mustache. “What now?”

Ignis’ eyes twitched as his lips quirked momentarily up, then back down. “Next wash your hands and grab the razor.”

He did as he was told, frowning at the cold water that splashed out of the faucet. 

He waited for it to warm up, occasionally dipping a digit in the stream before rinsing his fingers. The razor was small and awkward after the familiar curve of the faucet handles.

“You’ll want to shave against the grain,” Ignis informed him, stepping forward to settle onto the toilet seat. “Hold the section of skin you’re shaving flat, then drag the razor up against the hair.”

As the word “grain” hit the air, Prompto’s eyebrows twitched. He shifted nervously, waiting for Ignis to finish before he asked, “What?”

Thin lips opened to reply. Then they pursed. Slowly, they parted in a low, “Perhaps I should just show you,” he murmured.

Pale eyebrows rose.

Rising once more to his feet, Ignis made a show of cracking his knuckles before turning to his boyfriend. “Now, would you mind handing me the razor?”

He was quick to hand it over. Quick to jut his chin out to offer his face for inspection.

Taking the razor, the older man nodded toward the mirror, hair flopping into his eyes before he brushed them back beneath his hat with a lazy stroke of a finger. “You’re going to want to watch this in the mirror.”

“Right. Sure,” he agreed, blue eyes sliding toward the glass. It was a strange feeling; watching his life in real time. His gaze slid over tanned hands as they moved forward; as they brushed the underside of his jaw. He jumped as he felt the touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“We can’t have any of that, now, can we?” Ignis scolded softly. “Eyes open and try to keep still. The last thing I want is to hurt you. This is very sharp, I’ll have you know.”

As Prompto’s eyes fell open, they landed on the gentle curve of his lips. On the sweet affection in a crinkled green gaze. “This is it,” he realized aloud.

Ignis blinked. “Pardon?”

“This is it,” he repeated softly. “This is love. This is happiness.”

“...Prompto, I’m trying to shave you.”

“And I’m having a deeply emotional experience with your eyes right now.”

“Yes, well…” He cleared his throat. “If you manage to keep yourself together for a bit longer you can have a deep emotional connection with my lips. Now, focus, please.”

Saluting in all seriousness, Prompto stood at attention, back ramrod straight, as he willed away the flush in his cheeks.

…

Rosemary.

A pungent herb, in Prompto’s opinion. It smelled like moth balls and musty socks; tasted much the same.

When the name of the plant fell from Ignis lips, Prompto had stiffened, clippers held at the ready over a branch.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, green eyes casting about the room.

Prompto’s head shook, and he quickly pulled the clippers away.

“Are you making a new offshoot of rosemary?” Ignis asked, glancing from the pot to the younger man. “Admittedly, for as much as we use it, we should have a larger plant. Are you making a backup?”

Pink lips pursed, and the trimmers drew slowly away from the plant.

A silence settled between them as the tool dragged against the cold floor.

“Is something wrong?”

Stomach roiling, Prompto breathed a low, “I’ve been using it for offerings.”

“Offerings?” Ignis repeated quietly. “You’ve been making offerings? Who to?” he asked. He took a step forward, slow and nervous, before taking another. Within seconds he stood before Prompto, hand falling to cradle pale fingers wrapped around the clippers.

Blue eyes slipped down to stare at where they met, lashes fluttering. “I…” he began, voice weak. “I’ve been making offerings to Zodiark.”

“The god of fate, Zodiark?” The name was halfway between a question and an exclamation of shock, hanging awkwardly between them to fill the room. “How often?”

Prompto’s head turned up, mouth a thin line before he asked, “How often?”

Brown lashes fluttered before Ignis’ eyes fell closed. His free hand drew up, fingers carding through what bangs stuck out from beneath his hat. “My apologies. If I may ask, how long have you been making offerings to…  _ my _ gods? And how often do you do it?”

“Every day.” The admission was out before Prompto could stop it. “For a few weeks now it’s been every day.”

Mouth dropping open, Ignis’ voice caught in his throat once, twice, three times before he managed a squeaked, “May I ask why?”

Pale eyebrows drew together, and his words rose from him, nervous. “I just… Every time I get…  _ nervous _ about the future I just…” He nodded to the fire.

Green eyes followed the motion, landing on the hearth before turning back to his boyfriend. “You’re…” He paused, watching the younger man before him squirm before he shook his head softly. “I won’t pry.”

“Thank you.”

“But I…” Ignis trailed off, gaze sliding to the floor before slipping up to meet blue. “I want you to know that I… I’m glad. I’m glad to see that you’ve taken an independant interest in my –  _ our _ – traditions.”

Prompto’s attention turned to the plant before him, lips in a tight, nervous line as his stomach twisted into knots. 

“You…” Once more, he trailed off.

No prompt to continue came.

Eyes turning on the window, Ignis breathed a sigh.

Outside, it was a perfectly clear day. The sun was bright, flooding in through the windows to fill the room. In the distance, the ocean could be seen crashing against the beach.

“How about you go ahead and clip off what you need for Zodiark?” he suggested sweetly. “I can use a different plant.”

Prompto was quick to react, snipping off a sprig and half leaping across the room to toss it into the flames, fingers tight around the clippers. “Zodiark, please keep my future clear,” he hissed under his breath, glancing back to his boyfriend nervously as he approached.

Settling an arm on the brick fireplace, Ignis turned his eyes to the fire, watching as the rosemary caught.

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but you’re thinking something. You’ve got your thinking face on,” Prompto whispered. Stepping quickly over to the counter, he dropped the clippers in a small, empty pot with a shrug. “I don’t know. Whatever. Ignore me. I’m just being-”

“I was thinking that you’re incredible,” Ignis interrupted softly.

Prompto froze.

“I was thinking you’re beautiful,” he continued, voice low.

Pale hands settled against the countertop, gripping the pressed wood tight. “Oh?”

“I was thinking…” He trailed off.

There were footsteps, then; light against the floor, drawing closer.

Clothes that rustled with each slight movement.

The whisper of breath against the back of his head.

“I was thinking how glad I am that you are taking an interest in our culture.” Ignis’ voice had become a murmur; a bare whisp of sound that hovered at the edge of his lips even as they brushed blond strands. “But mostly I was thinking of how much I want to kiss you.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Prompto’s eyes slid across the empty front windows; over the road, the railing, and the ocean in the distance. “We can’t,” he whispered, gaze sliding to his boyfriend.

Ignis’ smile drooped at the edges before twisting suddenly up, eyes turning pointedly to the quarantine curtain.

“W- What’s gotten into you?” Prompto asked even as he stepped quickly around the store counter, throwing the curtain aside to step into the plant quarantine zone.

He’d just barely managed to clear away a small section on the bench before Ignis was there, closing the curtain and lunging forward. Tanned hands cupped white sleeves, taking hold of bony elbows as their foreheads drew close.

Then they hovered. Breath washing over each others’ faces, their eyes slipped between green, blue, and red lips that trembled softly in the low light.

A large hand slid up a white shirt sleeve, drawing over a shoulder, a neck, and finally cupping a pale cheek as their eyes met once more. “I…” Ignis began, trailing off as his eyes slid slowly shut.

“Are you scared?” The question came out as a high puff of air.

A head was shook. Green eyes fluttered quickly open. “No,” he disagreed softly. “No, I…”

“You… what?”

“I… I pray I’m not jumping the gun on this, but… I think I’m in love with you.”

Pale eyebrows arched. “But you said it hasn’t been long enough.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why… I’m so  _ confused _ . I simply…” He leaned forward, eyes slipping shut as his lips pursed and their foreheads fell together gently. “Perhaps when I said that I misunderstood my feelings for you. I didn’t… I don’t know. I’m not sure. But I want to tell you. I  _ need _ to tell you. I feel as if my chest is going to break if I don’t.”

As the words hit the air, Prompto’s eyes slipped shut. Breath whistled out between his teeth, chest rising and falling with each in and exhale. He felt more than heard the “I love you” that followed. It whispered against his lips: air and sound and  _ Ignis _ .

The kiss was far from a surprise; it was a relief. A soft mouth met chapped skin. Balm smeared between them as Ignis descended, scratchy bottom lip moving against Prompto’s as his hand angled his boyfriend’s face to the side. Their noses pressed into narrow cheeks. The other tanned hand slid up, slipping along a white shirt; a black vest. Then it fell, catching on a belt before sliding over a flat rear, only to move quickly, nervously, to grab a hip.

Prompto gasped through his nose at the first touch. His hand flew down to meet the tanned fingers that caressed the curve of him. He dragged them quickly from his hip, pulling them back and down until they curled around the shape of his behind.

Drawing back, Ignis bit his lip as his eyes wrenched open. “Is this too fast?”

“Is it?” The question was high and anxious, but pale fingers drew tighter around a tanned hand, pressing it into his rear. “I just want you to touch me.”

A breath hissed out through pale lips, eyes fluttering shut, as Ignis stuttered out a low, “W- Where?”

“Anywhere,” he answered, all too quick. Then, lip trembling and eyes shuttered, he added, “ _ Everywhere _ .”

Green eyes flicked from blond lashes to red lips. Then they fell. A white collar. A black vest. A trail of wooden buttons. A belt buckle.

A zipper.

Slowly, Ignis swallowed.

One after the other, blue eyes slid open to peer at the man above him. “Is something wrong?”

No answer came. Instead, the fingers that cupped Prompto’s behind eased around a thin thigh. Slipped against soft cotton trousers until they found the zipper.

Then drew lower.

“You-” Prompto gasped as the hand suddenly cupped him, cradling the bulge between his thighs. A sound escaped him; one usually choked back in bathtubs and beneath sheets alone on his bed late at night. Something much closer to a grunt than a moan.

“You said anywhere,” Ignis choked out. “ _ Everywhere _ .”

“ _ Please _ .” It came out as a gasp. A desperate whisper that accompanied the slow push of hips into the wide hand between his legs.

A long thumb dragged against the quickly growing bulge; against the flesh attempting to push through the fabric beneath his palm. “I can hardly believe I’m touching you.” The words were reverent. Appreciative.

Prompto’s hand fell away from the fingers that curled around his cheek, sliding instead up a silk vest. The fabric was smooth beneath his fingers as he followed the grain up, up, up until he could feel the desperate pounding of Ignis’ heart against his palm.

From the front of the door came the sudden jingle of the bell.

The couple flew apart, a pale finger motioning for Ignis to keep quiet as he quickly adjusted his unruffled hat and vest. Striding quickly through the quarantine curtain, Prompto slapped on a smile for the customer. “Good morning. Welcome to Carbuncle’s Conservatory. How may I help you?”

Closing the door quickly behind him, Libertus glanced to the curtain, then back to Prompto with a sharp, “You two might want to be a bit more discreet about this.”

Throwing the curtain aside, Ignis took a firm step forward, shoulders angled and eyebrows furrowed sharply. “Libertus,” he said, voice firm. There was a hint of threat to the name. An undercurrent of hostility that filled the room.

“Whoa, whoa, cool it,” Libertus snapped, hands held up defensively. “Pump the breaks; I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“How can I trust that?” Ignis spat.

Prompto sputtered.

“Because I’m the same.”

Silence. It settled through the room, paired with a heavy crack of lightning as it streaked across the sky, striking the ocean in the distance.

Glancing back at his boyfriend, Prompto flinched as his eyes landed on clenched hands that shook. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Ignis hissed back.

Blue eyes closed firmly, only to slide open and fix on green. “Look, go back to your shop. I’ll take care of this.”

“But-”

“Go,” he insisted quickly, head flinging to the side to glance at Libertus before turning his attention back on Ignis. “Just let me handle it, okay?”

He hesitated for a long moment before turning quickly to the back door. “Alright,” he agreed, striding away to pull it open. But as the chickens clucked in the yard – moving toward the shop to cluster around his feet, Aranea mounted on Kiwi’s back – the man paused. His head swung around, eyes fixing on his boyfriend for a short second before they narrowed, eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth fell open. Perhaps to say something. Perhaps to breathe. But after a few seconds of nothing – nothing but the silence and the tense air filling their lungs – his lips slipped shut and he left.

Turning casually back to Libertus, Prompto fixed the older man with a wide, fake grin and pleasantly asked, “So, what brings you to the shop today?”

Libertus’ eyes cast about, landing on plant after plant before he once more met Prompto’s eyes. “Does he usually get angry like that?”

“No,” Prompto replied softly, gaze flicking toward the rear door before landing back on his guest. “I’ve seen him scared, but I’ve never actually seen him angry.”

A wide jaw clenched at the words, but he gave a slow nod in acknowledgement.

“So…” Pale hands fell together, wringing before his stomach. “What brings you in today?”

Libertus seemed to startle at the words, eyes growing wide and hands flaring open before he answered with a bright, “Oh, yes. I heard you have some new baby cacti. I was wondering if I could buy one for the shop window.”

“Of course,” Prompto agreed, motioning toward the small selection on the counter. “Which would you like?”

Slowly, Libertus approached the counter. He glanced over the cacti. Over the bag of seed left by them. Over the small stack of care instructions in the center of the circle of pots. Bending over the plants, he pointed to one with red flesh and small, modest spines. “This little guy.”

Reaching behind the counter, Prompto grabbed a small flat of cardboard, unfolding it into a box. Placing the plant inside, he grabbed at a small bottle with a dropper, along with the instructions on the table. He carefully set it in the box with the cactus before handing it over.

“Thank you.” The words were tense. Uncomfortable. “How much?”

“One dinner.”

“Pardon?”

“Come to dinner tonight,” Prompto clarified softly. “Six o’clock. I need…” He paused, eyes sliding from the counter to the man before him. “I have questions, if you’re okay with that.”

It was a while before Libertus answered. His hands clutched the small box like a lifeline, cardboard crinkling between his fingers before he glanced out the front window. His attention fixed on the woman passing by, hood pulled over her head against the light drizzle before she disappeared from view. “I’d be honored,” he said simply, hugging the cacti closer to himself.

…

When Prompto went in for lunch later that day, he leaned against the counter beside Ignis and said, “I invited Libertus to dinner tonight.”

There was a sigh. The shift of athames against bread. A soft prayer. Then, turning to his boyfriend, Ignis murmured a light, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, there are some questions I have for him. I figured dinner would be a safe place to do it.”

“I suppose I should prepare for a third mouth, then.”

…

The evening came with little fanfare. Libertus arrived at the back door with a bottle of sparkling cider, insisting he felt like bringing something but felt Prompto was too young for wine.

“It is appreciated,” Ignis had said graciously, taking the bottle and placing it in the fridge. “We could enjoy it afterwards, instead of tea.”

“Tea?” Libertus asked, almost confused.

“We’re a tea household,” Prompto offered up.

…

They were well into dinner when Libertus asked, “So what’s the pencils and paper for?”

Making a show of swallowing his mouthful of pulled pork, Prompto cleared his throat and announced, “It’s for those questions I wanted to ask.”

Brown eyebrows arched, blue eyes quirking in amusement as his lips twitched into a nervous grin. “That’s a lot of paper,” he pointed out. “How many questions do you have?”

“Just one.”

“Then why the… reams?” he asked, motioning to the stack of sheets in the center of the table, sandwiched between the leftover pork plate and the mashed potatoes.

Ignis’ lips pursed, and he turned quietly to his boyfriend.

Leaning back in his chair, Prompto shook his head. “It’s not a yes or no question.”

“Well, why don’t you ask me already, then? The more time I have to answer, the better.”

Shifting in his chair, Prompto pushed some potatoes around his plate, gaze flicking from his silent boyfriend to their guest. “I… It’s better we wait until we’re done eating. The food will get cold.”

“You sound nervous.”

“He is nervous,” Ignis confirmed warmly.

Libertus turned his eyes on green, grinning warmly. “Why don’t  _ you _ ask, then?”

“Because I’m not privy to the question. This evening was entirely Prompto’s idea,” he replied. “I’m just as in the dark as you are.”

A laugh broke the room as the larger man leaned back in his chair, head thrown back to put the more intimate details of his beard on display. The unkept line of his jaw was dusted with uneven hair, threatening to crawl down his neck. “It’s like you’re married!” he snorted, head flush with the back rest.

Prompto flushed.

…

Ignis broke out the sparkling cider after all the dishes had been cleared away, settling the chairs around the fireplace and distributing glasses of the bubbly drinks before tossing a bit of leftovers into the fire. “I give thanks, Shiva, for bringing us together on this fine evening.”

Collapsing on his chair, Prompto gave a light, “You, uh, might want to thank Siren, instead.”

Green eyes turned on him, alight with something like realization. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“I’m missing something,” Libertus muttered around his glass.

Taking a calming sip of his cider, Prompto shifted in his seat toward the table. He reached forward, dragging the paper and pencil back toward him. “Siren is the goddess of gardens, fertility, and carnal affections.”

All at once the air changed as something clicked into place. “You want to know-”

“How do we have sex?” Prompto asked, pencil held tight in his hand.

The fire poker clattered to the hearth, Ignis’ hand frozen in place as his jaw dropped wide and his throat fluttered with the effort to speak. No words came. No whispers or shouts of indignation or embarrassment. Instead, what slid from his lips was the barest of whimpers as a flush overtook his cheeks.

Another laugh, baring the beginnings of a neckbeard as Libertus asked, “Is that all?”

An eager nod met the words.

Large hands reached for the papers. “Hand those over – I’m going to draw some diagrams.”

Ignoring the squeak that fell from his boyfriend’s lips at the words, Prompto eagerly pressed the sheets into thick fingers. “That would be a big help.”

“Now…” Clearing his throat, Libertus held the pencil at the ready. “The most important thing to remember when you’re going all the way is  _ lube _ . Water based is easy to clean up, but if you want something longer lasting you’ll want silicone. If you like, I could easily get you some.”

…

Climbing into his room, Prompto half raced up the stairs, arriving on the landing with a half wheezed breath. He reached immediately for his clothes, yanking off his shirt and pants and tossing them to the side. But as his fingers found the hem of his underwear a high, familiar chirp drew his attention to the far end of the room.

There, perched atop her cage, Aranea peered up at him, beady eyes shining in the dim moonlight filtering through the window.

“Hey,” Prompto greeted. “What’s up?”

“Wanna tell me why you locked me out of dinner tonight?”

Pale eyebrows arched suddenly as hands froze against narrow hips. “Uh…” He swallowed, eyes flicking from the closed bedroom door at the base of the stairs, then back to the bird. “I, uh… Sorry. It… It didn’t occur to me.”

“You’ve been closing doors a lot, lately,” she drawled.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Aranea.”

“Look, I…” She paused, beak turning toward the floor before she shifted against the cage. Slowly, her attention turned back to her human. “Look, I know you’ve been happy with Ignis lately. I know you want your privacy. But I still live here. I’m still your familiar – I’m still your  _ friend _ . I’m here to support you, whether you need it right now or not, but I need you to support me, too. I know I’ve been taking care of the chickens for the most part, and it’s nice having other domestic birds to spend time with, but I feel like I’ve been absent from your life for a long time, now. I miss you. I miss our talks.”

A moment passed before Prompto scooped up his laundry, launching it into the hamper in the corner before collapsing on his bed, socked feet flying up under his thighs as he crossed his legs. “Let’s go, then. What do you want to talk about?”

Her head shook, wings fluttering as she hopped around to face him. “That’s the thing; we didn’t have to think about it, before. Things have changed between us.”

Flopping back onto the bed, a sigh slid out between pink lips.

“Not going to argue?”

“No,” he breathed. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

Pale lashes fluttered closed, pressed to cheeks that grew slowly pink. “I’ve been so wrapped up in myself lately.”

“I mean, that makes sense,” she put in warmly. “You’ve got someone other than me standing with you. Supporting you.”

Shifting onto his side, Prompto’s eyes slid open, settling on his familiar with a small grin. “Think this is what people mean when they say ‘things change?’”

“Probably,” was the high reply.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you, or close doors to you.”

“I know,” Aranea assured him. “I just miss my best friend.”

“Is it bad that I didn’t notice?”

“You’ve been busy. Your head’s full. I can’t fault you for that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

…

Eyes wide, fixed on the ceiling, Prompto’s hands twisted in his nightgown.

At his side, moonlight filtered through the curtains, a thin strip of light that laid across his legs.

He shifted, dragging the blankets between his thighs to cushion his knees, then stuffing the pillow between them.

Slowly, his hips canted against the fabric.

Tongue sliding over his lips, his hand fell between his legs. It took hold of the bulge beneath his gown, gripping it firmly. His hips shifted up. Then back. Then forth. As his eyes fluttered shut, he felt himself grow hard in his hands, cock filling quickly before he half ripped himself away, leaping out of bed and down the stairs.

Ignis’ door was cold against his knuckles, the rapping of skin on wood all too loud in the night air.

His boyfriend answered after a series of thumps sounded from the room, short of breath and pajamas ruffled. “Prompto,” he greeted warmly. “What brings you to my, uh… to my room so late?”

“Do you want to try one of those things Libertus mentioned?” It all came out in a rush; a jumble of words that made little sense until a moment passed.

Realization dawned. “Are you sure?” Ignis asked. “You don’t… You don’t think we’re moving too fast?”

Blond hair flew as Prompto shook his head firmly. “I want to,” he insisted sharply. “I want to  _ touch _ you and-”

“Oh, thank Siren.” Those were the last words to pierce the air before he tore his shirt off, buttons thudding against the floor as his pajama top fell to the hardwood behind Prompto. Large hands found bony elbows, tugging the shorter man in close to press their lips firmly together. Tanned fingers fell to the hem of a thin nightgown, tugging it up until their mouths had to fall apart.

It hit the floor with something like finality, and they stood before each other, mostly naked, lit only by the candle on Ignis’ altar to Ifrit.

Prompto paused, eyes sliding over the exposed chest before him, only for Ignis to move in close.

The sound of his knees hitting the carpeted floor was a hollow one.

“No,” Prompto insisted quickly.

Green eyes turned up to meet his, wide with shock. “I thought you wanted this.”

“I  _ do _ ,” he insisted quickly. “I  _ do _ , but I…” His voice squealed into silence, mouth falling shut as he paused.

Slowly, Ignis rose to his feet.

Blue eyes shuttered.

A large hand rose, sliding against the underside of a narrow jaw. “What do you want?” he asked.

“I want…” He trailed off, voice weak. His eyes flew open as the grip on his chin forced his head up, gaze meeting green as a silence stretched between them.

“Yes?”

“I want to be on the bed,” he answered at last. “I want… I want candles and flower petals… and I want to do it to you.”

There came no reply; nothing verbal, at least. Pale lips fell open just a touch as dark eyes fell to half mast. Nostrils flared at the words. Breath whistled between white teeth.

“W- What do you think?”

There was a nod, quick and firm, before Ignis’ hand fell away. “I’ll be just a moment,” he promised before diving back into his room.

Prompto watched in open amusement as Ignis shuttled about, hanging their clothes on the end of the bed before picking up socks left to die on the floor and lighting candles on bedside tables and shelves. Before long the room was awash in flickering light, Ignis standing in the center, chest heaving, cheeks flushed as his eyes fixed on his boyfriend.

“Is this appropriate?”

Slowly, Prompto brought himself to nod. As he moved forward, every step felt like a challenge. His legs were lead. His stomach twisted itself into knots. And as he drew close, he found himself dropping. Found his knees caressing the carpet as his hands fell on the thick hem of sleep pants.

Ignis swallowed heavily.

Sliding his fingers around the top of boxers, Prompto watched in amazement as his hands peeled the fabric away, revealing tanned skin to him inch by glorious inch. At the sharp V of hips. The trail of hair leading down, down, down…

The hard cock that jutted suddenly out of the fabric, bobbing before his eyes.

“You look so beautiful right now,” Ignis said suddenly.

Prompto glanced up, feeling eyes on him for the first time.

Ignis’ expression was nothing short of reverent: eyes half mast, mouth open, cheeks a bright red. “You’re so beautiful right now,” he insisted again. “I almost can’t believe it.”

Feeling the heat in his cheeks, Prompto slid the sleep pants all the way to the floor, squeaking softly when large feet stepped out of the pool of fabric.

They moved in unison to the bed: Ignis perhaps too slow, Prompto a touch too quick. But before long Prompto kneeled between hairy legs, shoulders tight in anticipation as he leaned forward, gaze on the flushed cock before his eyes.

Green eyes stared eagerly at the sight. Stared at pale hands as they moved to slowly touch his shaft. To take it into narrow hands. To cradle it in pale fingers. A hiss slipped from his mouth as a warmth budded low in his stomach at the contact.

Then, wasting no time, Prompto leaned forward, laving his tongue against the bulbous head. He recoiled at the taste – at the salty-sour fluid that leaked from the tip and the warm friction of flesh. It was odd.  _ Unusual _ . But as he heard Ignis’ breath hitch above him, he leaned forward in another quick lick.

“ _ Prompto _ .”

“Yeah?” he asked, pulling away.

Their gazes locked.

Ignis shyly glanced away. “I just… I simply wished to say your name.”

“O… Okay?” Turning back to the cock in hand, Prompto leaned forward once more, laving his tongue against the slit in the tip.

A long groan pierce the air.

Grin tugging at pink lips, they descended, taking the head into the depths of a warm, wet mouth to swirl his tongue about the flushed skin.

“Sheathe your teeth,” Ignis insisted quickly.

Prompto pulled away from the flesh, flush firm in his cheeks. “Right,” he whispered. Then, curling his lips over his teeth, he descended once more. All too deep. All too fast. The flesh filled his mouth, pulsing with warmth, filling the back of his throat. Pulling off, Prompto bent over the side of the bed and gagged.

In an instant, large arms engulfed him. “Are you alright?”

“F-” Lips flushed with abuse fell shut, pinching closed as his stomach lurched.

Tanned hands presented the trash can, fingers tangling in the longer strands of blond hair to keep them out of the way. “My apologies.”

As the nausea faded, Prompto shook his head, pushing the can away. “I’m fine. I just… Libertus said we’d need practice. Now I guess we know why.”

“Then we can practice,” Ignis suggested softly. “We’ll take things slow. We can… We can cuddle.” Setting the can back on the floor, his arms wound around a trim waist, pulling his boyfriend to him until their chests drew flush.

Blue eyes turned to his own underwear, staring at the flaccid bump beneath the fabric. “Yeah,” he agreed, expression dull. “Yeah, sure.”

…

Prompto woke to an empty bed.

The blankets were cold and the candles were doused. Morning light seeped through the curtains as, at the bedside, an alarm sounded.

Reaching over, Prompto carefully pressed the small button up top to silence it, rising out of the blankets to peer around the room. Much like the basement, the walls were filled to the brim with shelves and books. Every inch had a function. Unlike the rest of the house, it was a very lived in space. Gone was the neat minimal look of clean lines and order. Instead there was a haphazard love to the volumes that spilled out of shelves and onto the floor. Incense piled beside a burner on the altar. A stick of sage sat half burned in a bowl.

Snatching up his discarded nightgown, Prompto slid it on quickly before making for the door. The house was silent as he descended, barren of noise aside from the creak of the stairs beneath his feet. “Ignis?” he called, stepping into the kitchen. “Ignis, where are you?” The room was empty. Even the fire had burned itself out, coals glowing weakly.

He moved into the shop, eyeing the shelves filled with bottles and plant trimmings. The clean and orderly counter crowned with a single pink-potted cactus. The door to the basement left wide. Prompto stepped through, gaze sliding along the concrete and the mass of cauldrons. “Ignis?” he called again.

No reply came from the basement, the older man absent from its depths.

Turning back to the shop, Prompto scaled what few steps he had descended before heading through to the kitchen. He tried the bathroom door, knocking quickly. “Ignis, you in there?”

No reply came.

He began to move away, even going as far as to step toward the back door, but something stopped him. He paused, hand rising quickly to his stomach in an attempt to keep it still as it jumped.

Slowly, he eyes turned back to the bathroom door.

A moment passed.

The cinders gave a pop.

Outside, waves crashed in the distance.

Reaching for the handle, Prompto eased the bathroom door open with a gulp of air.

There, beneath the sloped ceiling and protruding from the checkered shower curtain, a tanned arm pointed toward the floor.

Prompto was there. Tearing the sheet aside, he took hold of the shoulder propped against the corner of the tub. A shiver raced up his spine from the contact; from the frigid skin beneath his fingers. “Ignis,” he hissed. “Wake up!”

Water slocked in the tub as the man shot awake, eyes flying open to land on blue.

Leaning back, Prompto blew a relieved sigh.

“W- What time is it?” Ignis stuttered, reaching quickly for the glasses discarded on the edge of the tub. He rose to sit, skin squealing against the brass as a full body flinch raced down his limbs.

“Nearly time to get ready,” was the quick reply.

A tanned hand buried quickly in brown hair.

“What were you thinking?” Prompto scolded. “Falling asleep in the bath? You could have drowned!”

“I couldn’t sleep,” was the immediate reply, green eyes turning to stare beyond the curtain. “I was…  _ worked up _ . I decided to come down to have a bath and…” he paused, flush working up his face. “I must have fallen asleep after I finished.”

Realization was a slow thing. And as it washed over him, Prompto cleared his throat in an attempt to distract from his quickly reddening cheeks. “How about we open late?” he suggested. “I’ll make breakfast and you can take a nap. Or… something.”

Ignis’ smile was immediate, reaching into his eyes even as he sunk further into the bath. “You take such good care of me.”

Leaning forward, Prompto placed the smallest of pecks against his boyfriend’s arm.

Tanned fingers caught the chin, guiding it up towards pale lips.

At first the kiss was chase; a bare press of lips on lips. But a pale mouth soon moved, dragging them together, then at an angle, only for a tongue to prod at pink, warm lips.

Prompto squeaked at the touch, eyes flying open. They met Ignis’, wide and questioning, taking in the unspoken words between them.

_ Is this okay? _

Shyly, Prompto opened his mouth in reply. The first touch of tongue against his was electric. It streaked up his spine and into his chest.

Ignis pulled away first, eyes firm on Prompto as he asked, “Come in with me?”

“Into… the bath?” Prompto gaped, eyes sliding over the water, only to pause on the small puddle of white against Ignis’ stomach. “We should get you out. You must be freezing.”

Hand shooting toward the drain, Ignis popped the plug without hesitation. “Then warm me up,” he suggested, leaning back in the tub as the water began to rush around him.

“Let’s refill it when it empties,” Prompto insisted dryly, eyes on the goosebumps that covered long arms and trailed from a soft groin to wrinkled toes.

Despite the insistence, Ignis motioned him forward with his hands, inviting him into the tub.

“Not yet,” was the cool reply. “And wipe that mess off your stomach. It’s got to be fused to your hair by now.”

Ignis’ attention turned toward the smear of white just below his belly button, lips twisting in a frown. “My, this can’t be good.”

Pale hands offered the washcloth without a word.

It was grabbed quickly, dunked in the frigid water and splashed with soap. Running it quickly over the lumps in his stomach hair, the man fought back a laugh. “And here I was,  _ proud _ of my new state.”

“State?”

A head shook firmly. “Up until a few months ago I was almost hairless. Now…” He motioned to the almost literal fur that trailed from his groin nearly to his neck. “Puberty, it seems, is not quite done with me.”

Prompto hummed, gaze sliding over his boyfriend’s torso as the last of the water drained from the tub. Reaching for the stopper, he plugged up the drain and quickly spun the faucet for hot water.

Hands stilling against his stomach, Ignis’ fingers grew tight around the rag. “Do you…” He paused, lips pursing.

Blue eyes turned back. “Do I what?”

“Do you like it? The hair?” he clarified softly, gaze fixed on his stomach before it turned up, locking with Prompto’s.

“The hair?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I simply…” Ignis paused once more, lips held open for a long moment before moving in a slow, firm, “I simply wish to know if you would prefer I shave it.”

“... Shave what?”

“My torso.”

“Your… Your torso,” Prompto parroted softly. “I mean… Why?”

Another frown. And yet, something was different. There was a touch of sadness to the twist of his lips. Anxiety in the eyes.

_ Vulnerability _ , Prompto realized suddenly.  _ He’s scared _ .

It was a heavy knowledge. One that weighed in his stomach, so deep and strange that he nearly missed the words that shyly hit the air just as silence had begun to settle.

“I wish to be desirable to you.”

Prompto gaped, mouth ajar and eyes wide as he stared his boyfriend down.

Once more, silence stretched.

“What?” His voice came out as a squeak, at best. Blue eyes locked firmly on green.

Ignis’ gaze turned askance. “Last night… was fantastic. But as I laid awake beside you I couldn’t help but admire your body. I… I came alive just at the sight and I…” He swallowed. “After I finished myself off, I began to wonder if perhaps my-”

“I’m gonna stop you right here,” Prompto interrupted, “because there’s nothing I would change about your body.”

Lips pursed.

“Is this what you were thinking when… when my  _ mouth _ was-”

“Of course not!”

“Is there anything you want to change about my body?”

“What? No. Don’t be  _ silly _ . I-”

“Because when you look at me I forget  _ everything _ I want to change. You make me feel  _ perfect _ . I forget my stretch marks. My scars. The little pouch on my stomach-”

“I love that pouch.”

“And I love _ you _ ,” Prompto insisted, voice going low and soft. He turned to the faucet, adjusting the flow as he insisted, “If you don’t want to change anything about me, just…” He trailed off as he swirled a hand through the water, brushing a frigid leg. “I don’t want to make you feel like you have to change for me. Because I love you as you, and I think that’s important. However you change over the years should be because you want to change for yourself, not for me.

“Something my moms always told me as a kid was that a relationship is made up of compromises and agreements, but that you should never change yourself for your partner. Anything involving the body or personality are up to the individual. If you want to shave, go ahead. If you want to get a tattoo or get your lip pierced I’m not going to stop you. But don’t think for a second that I should drive those decisions in any way.

“I’m your boyfriend, but don’t shave your stomach if you want to be desirable to me. If you want to feel more desirable, and feel like shaving is the way to go about it, more power to you. But I don’t want you to change your body for me.”

Silence settled in the wake of his words; as Ignis looked on in shock.

Stripping out of his nightgown, Prompto gingerly rose, posing one leg to step into the bath. “Can you inch over?”

“I…” Slowly, Ignis complied, utterly silent as his boyfriend settled above him. “Why?”

“You’re the one who asked me to warm you up,” was the amused snort. As he settled into place straddling his boyfriend, he gave a soft groan as his half hard cock grazed a furry stomach. “You’re so cold.”

Ignis’ hands plunged into the water, washcloth discarded over the edge of the bath.

“Trying to warm up?”

“I wish to touch you,” was the quick admission. “But if I did so now you would likely soften.”

Pink lips splin in an amused grin. “You want me hard, then?”

Ignis’ mouth dropped open.

“Go on,” Prompto spurred. “Tell me exactly how you want me.”

“I-” His voice cracked, eyes going wide as his hands stilled beneath the water. “I don’t…”

Slowly, Prompto shook his head. “Sorry. Too much?”

“I was under the impression that my heart was going to stop.”

A laugh hit the air as the water drew up, flooding Ignis’ stomach and spilling over Prompto’s hardening cock.

“What has you so excited?” Ignis asked as his boyfriend bent back to turn off the tap.

Blond hair bobbed in a modest nod. “You’re naked,” he pointed out dryly.

“... Ah. Yes. That is correct.”

Leaning forward, Prompto draped himself across the cold body before him. “This is like a dream come true.”

A comfortable silence settled as the water sloshed around them, shifting with each easy breath. It was a while before hands – finally warm – latched around a narrow waist, pulling them closer together.

Prompto leaned into the embrace, hands sliding up a furry chest to land on broad shoulders. “What are you thinking right now?”

Ignis blinked, eyebrows arching as his cheeks suddenly flamed. “I cannot say.”

“Is it dirty?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you show me? What do you want to do to me?”

“It’s…” He paused, eyes falling shut as he admitted. “It is not quite…  _ that _ .”

Blond eyebrows arched. “Oh?”

“I’m…” He trailed off once more, then reached up. His hands settled on pale fingers braced against his shoulders, guiding them into hair hair. Then, moving down thin arms, he pushed his lover back to sit atop him once more. Finally, his hands fell to narrow hips, eyes locking with blue as he urged them forward.

Prompto gasped as his cock pressed insistently to a hairy stomach, spine arching. “For the love of Siren,” he murmured. “And here you couldn’t talk dirty.”

“Such talk is…” Pale lips pursed nervously.

Pushing up against flesh, a breathy groan slipped between pert lips as his cock filled quickly.

Ignis watched his boyfriend thrust, pressing his lips to a pale wrist. “Yes,” he whispered. “Just like that.”

Pale lashes fluttered shut at the words, pink cheeks settling freckles alight. “Enjoying the show?”

“Very much,” Ignis replied. “You are a blessed vision.”

Already Prompto’s breath was coming fast, and his cock twitched between them. “I’m… I’m there.”

“Finish on me. On my stomach,” Ignis demanded quickly. “Finish where I finished.”

Wish a groan, Prompto shot semen across the trail of hair beneath his cock, the length of him pulsing, seeking more friction as his hips sped up, humping his lover’s stomach until he was soft and wailing with overstimulation.

All the while Ignis watched on, the words, “You’re so beautiful,” heavy on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews give me Life and usually I update faster.


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